


The Consort: Hummingbird Cirus

by Gold-Snitcher (Revenant)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Betrayal, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, fist time, harem/slave fic, no-magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revenant/pseuds/Gold-Snitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a rebellion is crushed on the outer-edges of the empire Draco finds among the captives an intriguing youth who joins the men and women of the harem. Can this quiet boy who refuses to admit his name be worthy of the role of Consort? Or is he as scheming as the other occupants of the harem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Catamite

**Author's Note:**

> **Note from the Author:** This fic is an _alternate universe_, which means the characters of _Harry Potter_ have been transplanted into another world. This particular world is void of magic, and Voldemort, and many of things one might be familiar with having read the books, however, it does endeavor to remain faithful to the characterizations _as they would be changed_ by their new history and experiences.

Draco beckoned for another cup of wine and returned his gaze to the shoreline passing slowly by. He wasn't quite certain about his feelings towards the trip. He had been aware of the rebellion in the eastern portion of the empire, of course, but he had not been particularly interested by it. It was all well and good that the rebellion had been crushed, but it wasn't as if they really stood much of a chance: one country town rising up against his father, and thus, the entire Edorean Empire. The only real shock was that the uprising had lasted as long as it had.

Now, as High Prince and heir to the throne, Draco was on his way to the town of Brucandis in order to oversee the generals and make certain that the rebellion truly was quashed; thus ruining a perfectly good weekend and, including traveling time, a perfectly good few weeks.

On the other hand it removed Draco not only from the palace, but also from Agathe, the capital city; which meant that he had escaped the rather tedious spectacle of Tribute, where all the leaders from the cities under his father's control, as well as allied cities, came and presented gifts and paid their respect to the empire. This was usually made even more painful by the fact that so often the gifts sent were women to stock the royal harem, which would have been fine except that his father and mother had become quite keen on his choosing a prospective consort. A foreign bride made an awfully strong ally of a country.

Draco had made it quite clear that he wished nothing to do with the women in the harem. True, he did sample them and there were some quite delectable specimens of the female condition, but Draco could never imagine himself wed to any woman. They were notoriously greedy and petty and spent more time plotting against each other than they did plotting against the world. Too easily distracted, in Draco's opinion, to be pleasant wives let alone a worthy consort.

He did have a fine collection of boys but found that he grew tired of them far more quickly. The pretty ones were usually either incredibly vain or incredibly meek and weak-willed. The ones with spirit were not as attractive and in the end, the whole lot was exceptionally boring because, much to Draco's dismay, he found that they quickly succumbed to petty plots within the harem. Everyone inevitably began scheming to achieve the coveted position of Consort and Draco wasn't even nineteen, his father wasn't even dead.

Taking a deep breath of the clear air, Draco let his eyes fall closed. "Your majesty?" Eve had been his servant for some time and he favored her for her beauty and manner, and also for her discretion. She stood by his chair, her head bowed slightly but otherwise without sign of submission. "Your majesty, I have been told by the captain that we have arrived in Brucandis. He asks if this is an acceptable place to weigh anchor, he is reluctant to sail past the city as we cannot be certain of how secure it is. He also wished me to say that it is not recommended that you set foot ashore as it is too dark."

Draco waved a hand. "I trust the captain's judgments. Tell him I wish to go ashore first thing in the morning. Is my room prepared?"

"It is, my lord."

"Good. I'll retire." He stood and ducked out from beneath the silk linens that had been hung to create a place of shadow as he lounged. The days were quite hot in summer and though Draco loved the sun sitting in a boat meant overexposure and Draco hated to burn.

"Yes, my lord." Eve bowed and led him to his rooms and then, after turning down the bed and being dismissed for the night, she hurried out to relay his message to the Captain.

Once the door had closed Draco went to his trunk and withdrew a set of dark robes with a hood and quickly changed. Removing a set of blades from a green velvet case, he placed one in each holster on his belt, draping his cloak to mask their presence, and then moved to the window, which he opened quickly.

Brucandis was located in the most eastern part of the empire, and it was noted for its beauty. The city was lush and green, and even from his position on the boat Draco could catch the smell of jasmine and exotic flowers as the wind carried their scent. From what he could see, they had moored on the outskirts of the city. It would be a bit of a walk, but at least they were not near the army.

Draco stepped back from the window and quickly pulled his hood up. It was always recommended that he stay, safe and secure on the boat until daylight when his retinue would be prepared to walk with him and protect him. Draco found however, that there was an advantage in knowing the lay of the land. He always had his servants collecting information about wherever he was traveling so that he did not run the risk of being embarrassed by lack of knowledge. He studied maps as he traveled so that he was not completely dependent on guides. And, when they did arrive in the evenings, he always slipped ashore so that he could get a feel for the place. All of these things gave him an advantage.

Stealthily, he slipped past the busy crewmembers fussing about the boat and sought his close friend, Blaise Zabini. This was tradition and the taller boy didn't even bat an eyelash, as suddenly it seemed the shadows reached out and tapped him on the arm. Instead, Blaise busied himself with convincing one of the crewmembers to let him journey ashore and thus to lend him one of the skiffs.

When Draco was in the boat and the boat was in the water, Blaise rowed them to shore without comment and it wasn't until they had finally stepped out and pulled the boat up the small sand beach that Blaise grinned. "Incognito today, my lord?" he asked and Draco smacked him lightly upside the head.

"None of that now. There's a reason for this, you fool. I can't draw attention. This is enemy territory."

Blaise made a show of rubbing at the back of his head as they set off down the street into the city. "The army has stationed itself at the most eastern part of the town. Apparently that was where most of the fighting took place."

"Most of the fighting was in the east? But there's nothing there but farmland," Draco said.

"I think that was the point. Fewer civilian casualties and less damage to the city; this way the fight remained between those who sought it."

Draco thought about this for a momenet. "Still, it was a bloody waste. Completely hopeless from the start."

"They very nearly were successful. Your father lost a good number of men. They may be peasants and farmers out here but they were all apparently quite well acquainted with swordsmanship and strategy."

"It was just the brute strength," Draco murmured dismissively.

"And your army, where each man devotes his life to training and weaponry cannot boast brute strength?"

Draco shook his head. It was something to ponder: a bunch of commoners taking on soldiers of the imperial army and nearly winning. No wonder his father had been so volatile of late. "What has been done?"

Blaise watched as a mother rushed by, herding seven children all of whom were screaming and cheering and yelling. "As far as I have heard, the army resorted to the old siege technique. That was what the biggest battle of this whole thing took place over. General Goyle ordered the water and food supply to the city to be cut off. Apparently, this maneuver had been anticipated by the rebellion. Nonetheless, the stores they had saved up were depleted."

"How? If they had planned for that tactic how was it effective?"

"Apparently General Goyle turned one of the townsfolk against the rebellion. The man willingly destroyed all of the supplies that had been saved. Only, he didn't know about all of the holdings where the food was kept. Still, he destroyed enough of it. There was a battle as the rebellion moved to reopen the water and food lines: a battle that the rebellion won. If it were not for the reinforcements you wouldn't have had to make this trip."

Draco was fascinated. His father's generals were very skilled and talented schemers and yet, somehow, the leader of the rebellion had plotted just as skillfully, and just as successfully. "Do we have him?"

"Have who?" They had reached the center of the city and Draco was struck at once by both the simplicity and the beauty, large enclosed gardens with hanging plants overhead, and though the buildings were small, they were painted white and looked bright contrasting with the darkness of the vegetation. It was a cozy place despite the fact that it was one of the poorer cities.

"Have whoever led them," Draco clarified. They stopped and watched as a few soldiers trekked along the path. When they had passed, Blaise nodded.

"Everyone who participated in the rebellion is either dead or captured. We have him."

"I want to meet him tomorrow."

"I imagine you'll be meeting a number of people tomorrow. It falls to you to establish what should be done with the captives."

Draco rolled his eyes. It was a nauseating part of his duties. Most of the time in local rebellions like this one, there was a lot of blubbering and pleading and Draco really grew tired of it. He often made a point of being less lenient with those who begged, it really was unbecoming. If you were going to rebel and lose then you really ought to accept the punishment, was his way of looking at it.

"I can't wait," he mumbled sarcastically. "Lets find a tavern and get drunk," he added, and Blaise followed him in his search.

……………………………………………

Draco awoke with a hiss as the sunlight spilled merrily into his room. "Eve, shut the bloody curtains," he ordered, but Eve only laughed and handed him a glass of water and a small purple remedy that he was completely familiar with.

"It's a beautiful day and you did say that you had every intention of going into the city as early as possible. The generals are expecting you. Drink the water it will settle you. Then drink the remedy, it's for your hangover." She turned away as he obeyed her command and opened his trunk, setting out a fresh pair of summer weight green robes knowing full well that he liked to look slightly daunting on these sorts of expeditions. "As soon as you've dressed and had some breakfast, the men are waiting up top to take you to shore."

"Have Blaise be dressed and ready and make sure he's had at least fifteen minutes to talk to those hair brained crew members who are under the mistaken impression that they will serve as good bodyguards for me. I hate walking about like a feeble woman."

"Feeble?" Eve asked, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I will not walk about in front of people who already have little to no faith in the empire, tripping on overzealous boatmen." There was a quirk on her lips as she finished setting-out his tray, but she nodded dutifully at his request.

"Would you like me to stay?"

"No, go and tell Blaise. I'll be out shortly."

It was a bright day, but not overly hot. There was a pleasant breeze and Draco reveled in the weather as he walked through the army's encampment. The two generals, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe were the elder sons of two of his father's most prominent military generals who had been promoted to the position of military advisers. Draco had dismissed the crewmen who had accompanied him and now walked beside Blaise, only half-listening to the prattle about tactics and the behavior of the prisoners.

"Where are the prisoners?" Draco asked when it became clear he was getting a tour rather then being taken directly to them.

"They're just over this way, my lord," Goyle motioned to a spot at the center of the encampment where they were heading. "We keep them there so that, if there is an attempt at escape the buggers will have to run past tent after tent of trained soldiers."

Draco nodded vaguely. "Have you identified the leader of the rebellion? And those who were in command?" There was a hesitant glance between both generals and as they stumbled over their words, Draco sighed. "No, it would appear you have not."

"That's not exactly true, my lord. We do know those who played significant roles, we just..."

"Can't figure out what those rolls were?" Blaise offered and the men had the good grace to appear abashed.

"Take me to them now. I haven't the patience for any more of this," Draco commanded, and the two generals hurriedly obeyed.

At the very heart of the army's encampment Draco found himself looking at a sorry lot of people, men and women alike, chained in various ways, to various things. There were some who were chained to a low fence that had been created to circle around the area, and at the very center of everything, there was a tall pole where three people were chained, two young men and one girl. They looked to be about Draco's own age.

With a frown affixed to his face Draco turned to Goyle, who seemed to be the quicker of the two, and said simply, "Tell me."

"They're just the local folk," Goyle began as they walked past the people who were tethered to the low fences. "They fought with knives and the like." At Draco's glare Goyle nodded at the three at the center. "Those are who we figure played larger rolls. None of them are talking." Draco glanced at Blaise and with a nod the other stepped forward.

With a quiet grace, Blaise circled the poll and looked closely at each of the three. Their faces were pale and drawn and every inch of them screamed of exhaustion, but there was a glint in each of their eyes that said quite clearly that they were angry and they had not yet been broken. Blaise settled on the girl and stepped forward.

Her hair was matted and she was covered in dirt. He smiled at her kindly and leaned in close. "Would you like some water?" he asked and she pressed closer to the poll in an attempt to shift away from him.

"Crabbe, get some water, bring it here," Blaise ordered. When Crabbe had complied, Blaise offered her the bowl but she turned her head away and so he made a point of sipping it in front of her. He noticed the way she eyed him and inwardly grinned. The army appeared to be starving their charges and dehydration was setting in.

He sat back and sipped casually at the water, confident in her full attention, and that of the redheaded boy beside her. "If you talk to us we can get a better understanding of what happened. Perhaps allowances can be made. The emperor is forgiving -- if you talk to us.

"I bet you would love a shower. Nice and cool. Some soap, clean clothes. A soft bed to sleep in." Blaise grinned but she glared back at him. "Would you like something to eat? I imagine you're quite hungry. How long have you been sitting here? Two days, it would be?"

"Two days," Goyle affirmed, watching the proceedings and looking proud that he had thought of denying his captives such necessities.

"Two days," Blaise purred, looking compassionately at the girl. "That's quite a lot to go without food and water. Water especially. After three days that's when you could die, you know. Three days without water and the body really starts to deteriorate."

"Leave her alone! You scum!" It was the redhead, and immediately triumph lit Blaise' eyes. You could always count on a protective male.

Quickly, he stepped around and faced the redhead. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked flippantly, but the redhead seethed.

"Leave her alone."

"How about you? Fancy some water?" he took a long sip and the boy leaned forward unconsciously. "Tell me your name and I'll give you some."

"You bastard."

"It's not such an important thing, is it? It's just your name. I'm not asking you really anything important, am I? You're not betraying anyone by telling me your name." There was a flicker of doubt in the brown eyes and Blaise played his trump card. "I'll give her some water, if you'd like."

"Ron. Ron Weasley."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Blaise once again offered the girl the bowl of water. She looked torn between ignoring it and accepting it; in the end she drank greedily. Blaise came back around to Ron and held out the bowl, watching keenly as Ron drank and then nodded over to the other boy who was chained to the pole.

"Give him some, too," he ordered, and Blaise shrugged. He stood and walked over to the dark-haired boy who watched him with disinterest. Carefully, he offered the bowl but in return he received only a stare, the look never changing.

"Your friend doesn't seem to want any," Blaise said after he and the prisoner had stared each other down for a moment. The redhead, Weasley, looked at the dark-haired boy in confusion but quickly turned back around when the other refused to move.

Blaise found himself admiring the dark-haired youth. He was stoic and stubborn and it didn't look as if he were going to give in any time soon. Blaise hoped that he would be something like that under similar conditions.

He walked back over to Ron Weasley and crouched down, looking conciliatory. "See that man over there?" He pointed to Draco who quirked an eyebrow in obvious amusement at the proceedings. "That's the prince. He wants to know who your leader was. Now, General Crabbe says it was you, but you know what I think?" Blaise asked, turning suddenly dangerous. He could see from the look in Ron Weasley's brown eyes that the boy was only just realizing he had revealed too much. "I think it was all that pretty little girl's idea."

It may have been a high card to play so soon and in truth, Blaise was used to wheedling information out of people slowly just by talking to them. But the sun was strong and there were no trees shading them, he was tired and Draco always did hate this part of the proceedings. His patience was thin, so he took the offer the redhead had unwittingly given him and went right for the jugular. "Crabbe, unlock her." Crabbe, looking extremely confused stepped forward. All he had to do was pull out the keys before Ron Weasley, visibly panicking, started shouting.

"No! No! Stop! You fucking wankers! It wasn't her! It wasn't Hermione! Leave her alone!" He started thrashing and kicking as best as he could. Crabbe stepped over to the girl who remained just as calm as she had been previously. The admiration Blaise had been feeling towards the rebels returned. She should know the things they could do to her, yet she remained unfazed.

"I think you will find that is unnecessary." It was a calm voice that split through Ron's shouts and stilled everyone. Blaise and Crabbe turned towards the fence where an old man with white hair and an impressive beard looked at them, as calm as his tone had implied. "She had but a small role to play. I am the leader of the rebellion."

There was an audible shifting sound and Blaise turned back to see that the dark-haired boy was leaning forward slightly, eyes on the old man. Their gaze locked only fleetingly but it was clear a message had passed between them because suddenly the boy leaned back, calm once more.

"Are you willing to talk?" Now it was Draco who stepped forward.

"Quite willing," the man said in a surprisingly cheerful tone. "What would you like to discuss? It is fine weather, is it not?" Blaise was about to laugh and he noticed that Draco was, as well, when Goyle lunged forward and smacked the man hard across the face.

"You will not mock the prince!" he cried, and again Blaise noticed that the man with the white hair seemed unfazed.

"Forgive me, I'm quite old. I am liable to misunderstand things. I was asked if I wanted to talk. I simply demonstrated my openness."

Draco did laugh now and shook his head. "I've heard enough. Take him and those three," he pointed to the vertical pole where Ron and the other two were sitting, "and secure them. Keep them separate. They'll go directly to my father. The others are to be slaves. Offer them to the men, first. If none are interested, you know where to take them." Crabbe and Goyle nodded and as they waved a few of the soldiers over they set to work unchaining the old man and the three.

Draco joined Blaise at the side of the fence, watching the movements as the soldiers hurried to comply with their orders. "This seems like a complete waste of time," he commented, and Blaise shrugged.

"It's obvious that Goyle and Crabbe are new at this, your father likely wanted to be certain that things were dealt with accordingly. What will become of those four, do you think?" Blaise nodded towards the supposed leaders of the rebellion.

"The mastermind is an old man. He'll get house arrest, likely, my father isn't barbaric. And the three well, they'll get jail time since they were following his lead." They watched as the old man was hauled to his feet. The dark-haired boy had just been detached from the pole; as the old man walked past he nodded at the boy, who nodded very faintly back.

The exchange was extremely subtle and took place mostly in the eyes but it caught Draco's attention. He blinked for a moment, and then stepped forward just as they were leading the dark-haired boy away. "Stop. Bring him here." The two soldiers dragging the boy who was still secured in chains, approached slowly. Draco eyed the captive closely.

He was dressed in a simple black tunic, with a thin green belt. There were sandals on his feet with straps that crisscrossed up his legs. He was dirty, but his eyes were clear and remarkably focused for someone slowly being starved and dehydrated, and they were such a vibrant green that Draco found himself staring before he caught himself. This boy was remarkably magnetic; there was no way around it.

"What's your name?" he ordered, satisfied that his voice let on none of his thoughts. He was answered by silence.

To Blaise' surprise Draco did not get angry merely grinned, it was a devil's grin, but there were traces of something else in it, as if Draco were a small child who had just been given a treat. He couldn't decide what had prompted this reaction but he knew that if he were patient his friend would confide.

"No name?" Draco said. "I'll have to name you, then." He paused and thought, and then smirked. "Emerald." With a quick turn that sent his cloak aflutter, Draco waved the crewmen who he had made wait in the shade over.

They stopped, panting and heaving in front of of their prince who offered only a cryptic smile. "Take him back to the ship," Draco ordered and Blaise had to work hard to hide the look of surprise from his face. He noticed that for once the dark-haired boy, newly dubbed Emerald, had given a reaction, it looked like he'd been slapped across the face, but quickly it faded, and he let himself be jerked forward and away.

Draco turned back to Goyle and Crabbe. "Well, I think we still have more to discuss, do we not?"

They made their way back to the ship at dusk and Draco was proud that he had gotten all the business done in one day. "I have the feeling my father sends me out on these ridiculous 'missions' as a way of preserving my sanity," Draco mumbled as they walked.

"That, and he feels he has better things to do than concern himself with such matters. It does you well do get used to dealing with generals and captives." Draco shrugged. "Speaking of captives," Blaise said, and let the unfinished question hang in the air.

"Wasn't it completely obvious?" Draco asked. When Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him Draco continued, "Who was the one person who didn't ever break character?"

Blaise frowned, trying to see his friend's point. "That boy."

"Exactly. The girl accepted the water, Weasley obviously cracked under the pressure, and that old man stepped forward to protect the girl," Draco paused dramatically. "What if it wasn't the girl he was protecting?" This was tossed out so remarkably casually that Blaise shook his head, surprised at his friend's behavior.

"Who else, then?"

"Why, Emerald, of course."

"Emerald?" Blaise asked, forgetting to whom the name referred.

"The dark-haired boy. His eyes. Did you see them?" Indeed Blaise had, and he had been hypnotized by them just as it seemed the prince had been. "What's the worst punishment that the old man can receive? House arrest. No one wants to abuse an old man, it makes them seem barbaric and scares civilians. He would have probably been given that anyway because he'd participated, who's going to buy an old slave? He's well past the freeing age. But what would have happened if the leader of the whole thing had turned out to be someone younger. Say, seventeen? Did he look seventeen to you?"

Blaise shook his head in exasperation. "Stay focussed," he scolded, and Draco shrugged.

"He would have gotten much worse. If I'd sent him to my father he probably would have been executed. Or may as well have been."

"Where is he going, then?" he tried to keep his voice casual, but Blaise spotted the darkening of the grey eyes he knew so well.

"He's not going anywhere," was all Draco said.

……………………………………………

As Draco came aboard the ship he was greeted first not by the captain, but by Eve, who met him anxiously. "My lord, I didn't know what to do."

Draco frowned. "With what?"

"With the boy you sent, my lord. I had him washed and cleaned his clothes, but I wasn't certain what you wanted him for. I didn't know what to do."

In truth, Draco didn't really know what he wanted the boy for, either. He had acted on instinct, and his instinct had made an animalistic noise and said 'I want', so Draco had the boy taken back to his ship. From there, he had no clue how to proceed. "Where is he?"

"After I had cleaned him, I set him to sleep in the servant's quarters."

"Did you remove the chains? Did he struggle?"

"I did no such thing. My understanding is that, if a person is in chains then there is a good reason for it. But he did not struggle. He did absolutely nothing."

Draco nodded. "Has he been fed?"

Eve frowned. "As I have said, my lord, I did not know who or what he was. I gave him no food or drink. I was not certain what you wanted."

Draco paused and thought. "When he wakes, feed him and give him water. Keep him in the quarters, but have a crewmember secure him to a pole or something in case he tries anything. If something happens, inform me immediately. Let him out for a few hours. Put someone in charge of him, or several someones, I think." He thought about it a moment. "Have Iris deal with him, she's quite adept at bossing people about." Draco waved her off and smirked at Blaise. "The trip back should be interesting, don't you think?"

Blaise snorted and rolled his eyes at his prince's antics.

……………………………………………

The next day found Draco underneath the bright silks that had been setup as an awning to block the sun. He was seated on the fluffy cushions along with several of his servants and Blaise, with whom he was playing chess.

It was surprisingly calming, the sun providing light and warmth but not to the point of aggravation thanks to the awning. The wind was subtle and the sound and the rocking of the waves made for a very relaxed prince, and Blaise was equally contented.

A small girl who looked about fourteen hurried forward and bowed before stepping under the tent. "My lord, Iris sent me to ask if now would be an acceptable time to bring out the boy."

Draco looked up and frowned. He seemed about to ask what she was talking about before he waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Fine. Tell Iris to do as she pleases." Blaise smirked. As much as Draco liked pretty things he tired of them so very easily. They refocused on the game and barely heard the clinking of the chains as the boy shuffled across the deck.

He had been washed and his clothes were clean, though he had not been changed, he still wore the same black tunic and the sandals. Draco glanced up and watched a moment before returning his attentions to the game, sending his knight whirling across the board.

The boy stopped at the bow of the boat and leaned over the edge slightly. The servants who were supposed to be watching him all shifted nervously, unsure what to make of him. Blaise kept an eye on them as he moved his bishop.

From where he was leaning at the bow of the boat, the boy turned to glance at the shoreline in the distance and one sandal clad foot rose to scratch a spot on his calf. Draco's eyes strayed towards the front of the boat; Blaise noticed it but said nothing.

Quickly, Draco moved a pawn. The boy turned back, looking straight ahead and then after a moment tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck and shoulder and raised a shackled hand to rub gently at it.

Blaise nudged Draco and Draco quickly returned his attention to the board, moving his knight again. Blaise stifled a chuckle as the blonde's eyes returned to the boy as soon as his move was complete. Blaise took Draco's knight.

They played on for a while before Iris stepped forward and said something; presumably telling the youth it was time to return to his quarters. As he turned he pulled his hand across the wood of the railing and must have gotten a splinter, the startled gasp drew Draco's attention from his move and he looked up in time to see the boy raise the abused finger and place it in his mouth, sucking on it and pouting slightly.

Blaise declared checkmate.

……………………………………………

The journey back to Agathe was five days long and by the eve of the second day Blaise found himself sitting in Draco's cabin looking at a very ruffled prince. He had been called into Draco's rooms presumably to talk about their plans once they returned to the castle or to discuss something or other, as they so often did, but mid way through a debate about the nature of the stars and the chance that divination could be a valid art, Blaise huffed and threw his hands in the air.

"Call him here," Blaise said.

Draco blinked, surprised by a statement that fit nowhere in their conversation. "What? Who are you talking about?"

"The boy. Emerald. It's obvious he's what's really on your mind, so call him here. Do whatever it is you kept him for, and then get your mind off it."

"I'm not thinking about that," Draco hissed. "I'm trying to figure out how the rebellion started. When I become king I'm going to have to deal with a number of them, and if I don't understand how they get started then how am I supposed to prevent them?"

Blaise blinked at him, unconvinced. "Then why don't you ask him?"

"He's mute. The bloody thing isn't talking," Draco said as he rolled his eyes.

"Have you made any attempt to speak with him since he came aboard this ship? No, I didn't think so. You have him cloistered with the servants who are terrified of him because they still have no idea of whom he is or what he's done or why he's here. Call him in, let's have some fun." Draco rolled his eyes at his friend's coaxing, but beckoned Eve.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Bring the boy."

They sat in silence as they waited, listening to the clinks growing louder until there was a knock on the door and Iris stepped forward and bowed. She was very tall and thin, but strong. She was twenty-three and had been at the palace for every one of those years, the daughter of another servant. Iris had been Draco's mother's servant but when Draco was older, Narcissa had sent Iris to work for him and keep an eye on him. Draco trusted her absolutely, and knew her quite well. He did not miss the fact that she was being most civil to the boy, ignoring his shackles and motioning him into the room with a friendly grin, and made a note to speak with her later. At the moment, he waved her off after she handed him the key to the chains.

"Would you like some wine?" Draco offered as he sipped from his goblet. Blaise settled back on the settee, observing. The boy said nothing just looked at Draco, though for once his eyes were not blank, there was a spark of something that Blaise found quite alluring.

"Suit yourself," Draco said. "Take a seat." He motioned to one of the cushions that were situated at the table and the boy, after a moment's hesitation, sat.

Blaise watched as Draco's eyes ran up the lithe body. "There, much better," Draco said with a small smirk. "Now, where were we?" He turned back to Blaise and Blaise tried to think of something. "Oh yes," Draco said, before Blaise could offer something. "We were talking about my father's politics."

Blaise blinked. "Quite right," he said, wondering where to begin.

"I firmly believe that expansion of the empire is essential. It brings in more money and increases trade and variety of goods. A strong empire requires war to keep the people happy and keep their pride high. Successful war always increases nationalism. And that unifies us. I believe my father's focus is entirely correct."

"But not all wars can be successful, and they do bring losses. It's possible to have too much war, and that exhausts the people. They grow tired of being without their husbands and sons. They grow tired of death and bloodshed and uncertainty." They debated for quite a while. Their talk soon moved from war to palace politics to how to properly train horses and through it all they heard not a word from the boy, but he watched and listened until, finally when it was very late, he fell asleep.

"Leave him here. I think the servants can do with knowing they'll be safe for the night," Draco said with a wry smirk.

"Iris didn't seem to have a problem with him. And I'm not leaving the leader of a rebellion sleeping in here with you. Alone."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I fully intend on shackling him to that railing." Blaise rolled his eyes, immediately taking the key to loop part of the boy's chains around the railing Draco had indicated. "Satisfied?" Draco said when they had shifted the cushion and the sleeping form on top of it closer to the railing and had secured the chains.

"Hardly, but it's as good as it can get."

"Thank you. Now, I'm tired, goodnight, Blaise." Blaise sighed dramatically, executing an exaggerated bow before he left.

……………………………………………

When Draco woke the next morning the first thing he did was glance at the cushion across the room and he found himself smiling at the still sleeping figure of Emerald. Hopping out of bed, Draco quickly cleaned himself and threw on his pants. He was just pulling on his shirt when a shiver running up his spine caused him to turn and emerald eyes immediately confronted him.

Draco quickly regained control of himself and adjusted his shirt, reminding himself that he was the High Prince, and that the strange youth was certainly not the first male that had been in his rooms. He was just trying to think of something to say when there was a hurried knock and Eve quickly entered.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she bowed. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know you were awake."

"It's quite alright, Eve. Will you fetch another tray?" he asked as she set his breakfast on the small desk. She frowned and then suddenly noticed Emerald who had sat up and was eyeing them both with distrust.

"Of course," she stuttered, and hurried out.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco found himself asking but the boy said nothing, simply continued to watch as he ate. "So did I," Draco answered flippantly. "The rocking of the water is quite soothing." At this point, Eve returned and hesitantly placed the tray by the boy.

"Will you be needing anything else, my lord?"

"No, thank you, Eve. Have them set up the awning, though."

"Of course." She bowed and left.

Draco finished his breakfast and noticed the boy hadn't touched his. "Are you not hungry?" Draco queried, not really expecting an answer and so not quite disappointed when one failed to come. "At least eat the bread. It's quite good." Draco watched the frown appear, but the boy hesitantly picked up the roll and set to work picking out the raisins.

Draco was fascinated. There was something about the way he meticulously rid the roll of all its raisins before hesitantly nibbling on a portion of it that was both amusing and endearing. When the roll was completely eaten the boy looked back at Draco, and Draco shook his head in exasperation. "Fine, be that way. Drink the water and then we'll go outside." The boy again complied and drank the water in one steady chug.

Draco waved Iris in and she only had to walk over to the cushion where Emerald sat and smile and the boy hefted himself upright. He turned back and looked at the railing he was shackled to and Draco was at once reminded of who the boy was and what he was doing in chains. He tossed the key to Iris and stepped out of the cabin. It was far too claustrophobic there.

He made his way over to the awning and settled himself into the wonderful cushions and nodded to Blaise as he came over. "Good morning, my lord," Blaise murmured with a grin. "You're looking well. Up for some more chess?"

They had just begun their game when Emerald made his way out, followed by Iris, and resumed his station at the bow of the boat. Blaise had become used to this. Emerald had done the same thing the other day and the consequences on their chess match had been amusing.

Today, however, Draco looked up and frowned. "Eve, tell Iris to bring him out of the sun. He'll get sunstroke standing out there like that." Eve nodded and did as she was told. Draco returned his attention back to the board and after careful consideration, shifted his queen.

The boy stopped just outside of the awning and frowned as Iris coaxed him under. After a moment a few of the girls who had been reclining shifted over and cleared a larger spot for him and he reluctantly let himself be tugged to the cushions. As it was, he was seated facing sideways, and thus had a perfect view of both Blaise and Draco and the chessboard. He seemed perfectly contented to be ignored and to ignore everyone, which is what Blaise was certain he was doing until several bold moves from Draco had Blaise worrying that he would lose the match.

It was not unusual. Draco was an incredibly skilled player and though Blaise was renowned among his peers, it was rare that he could best the prince. He was just resigning himself to another lost match when a slender hand reached across the board and shifted the queen.

Blaise was ready to yell out in anger as Draco immediately took her. Glaring down at the board Blaise again watched as the hand slipped forward, pushing a pawn into position. Draco moved and Blaise tried to think up a new strategy to account for what the other youth had done. He was at a loss, but needn't have worried. After three moves the hand shot forward again and Draco sat back, stunned.

"Checkmate." The voice was soft and melodic and Draco and Blaise stared first at the board and then at the boy who sat back on the cushions and turned his head out to look at the sea once more.

……………………………………………

Draco stopped as he was entering his room and motioned to Eve. "Bring him," Draco ordered, and Eve hesitated before bowing again and hurrying off. Draco had readied for bed when the familiar clinking was heard, and the soft knock alerted him to Emerald's arrival.

"Enter," he said, and Iris opened the door. "Over there," Draco motioned to the rail as he finished buttoning his shirt. When Emerald was once again securely attached to the rail and a cushion was shifted within his reach, Iris bowed and left and Draco climbed into bed.

He blew out the candle, but found that he lay awake for a long time before finally succumbing to sleep.

……………………………………………

On the fourth day they were hit with a harsh storm and Draco stayed in his room. Having been on many sea voyages he was used to pretty much anything the sea could throw at him. Ever since he was a child, Draco had always loved the water and his tutors had often commented that he was a natural boatman. Emerald it seemed, was not so lucky.

As the weather worsened, Emerald seemed to become more and more unsteady until, backed into a corner and curled in on himself, Draco realized that the boy was about to be quite sick. Blaise had just placed a bowl in front of the boy when he succumbed to the nausea.

When Emerald had regained part of his composure Draco told Blaise to unchain him from the rail and bring him over. They set about distracting him with a game of chess, and though the dazed and slightly green tinged expression never changed, Emerald was not sick again.

The storm had not stopped but Blaise found himself stifling yawns and Blaise saw Emerald's eyes dropping and finally, when the boy's eyes remained closed for several long moments before he was able to drag them open again, Draco suggested that they stop for the night. He noticed a look of panic in the green eyes as he said this and ordered Blaise to shackle Emerald to the large wardrobe, which was securely bolted to the floorboards but was closer to the bed.

Draco changed quickly and, as an afterthought, tossed a blanket over to the boy before he climbed into his bed. The boat lunged forward and it groaned loudly and Draco took pity on the boy. "You'll feel better if you talk. It will distract you," he offered. He was answered by silence.

……………………………………………

On the fifth day the wind was in their favor and despite the storm they were pulling up to the palace docks at suppertime. Draco was eager to get off the boat, for as much as he loved the water he was a very active person and could not take having his movements so restricted.

"My lord, the king awaits your return. He is in his chambers and requests you see him immediately."

Draco nodded and dismissed the palace servant and waited as Eve fastened his heavier cloak about his shoulders. The night was quite cool, but Draco always made a point of being properly attired when he spoke to the king, even though he was his father. "Blaise, are you returning to your home, tonight?"

"I am."

"Come by soon. It gets quite dull without someone to have proper discussions with. Dinner tomorrow?"

"Of course," Blaise said formally with a bow, but there was a gracious smile. Having grown up alongside the prince, it was often difficult to remember the proper decorum.

As Draco exited his rooms he noticed the palace guards who were in the middle of fastening more elaborate chains on Emerald. As Draco passed their eyes locked and Draco found his pace slowing. It was a strange moment shared between them, and Draco left the boat feeling slightly disoriented and more than a little aroused.

……………………………………………

"Father," Draco greeted as he bowed low. Lucius Malfoy smiled and waved his son over.

"How was your journey?"

"Quite dull. But, I must thank you for it just the same, I think enduring Tribute would have been worse."

Lucius laughed at his son's pained expression. "Sometimes I think you are far too spoiled. When you are king there will be no escaping Tribute or any other responsibilities like it."

"I know. All the more reason why I should escape them now." They smirked at each other, and a servant stepped forward offering Draco a goblet of wine, which he readily accepted settling himself on the cushions across from his father.

"Tell me who I will be meeting tomorrow," Lucius said.

"Four people: the leader of the rebellion, and three others. One a female."

"Who was the leader?"

Draco sipped at his goblet remembering startling green eyes. "An old man. The others are much younger; I would place them around seventeen or so. Everyone else I sentenced to slavery."

"Good." Lucius sipped at his goblet, eyeing his son speculatively. "I heard news that one of the rebels traveled here aboard your ship."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have a request, father." Draco wondered how to phrase it. "I would ask you to consider allowing me to add him to my harem."

"Your harem?"

"Yes, mine. Though if you are interested..." He and his father both had separate harems, though some of the inhabitants belonged to both.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. You know as well as anyone that I no longer partake in my harem. They are for show. I will think on it, Draco. You know how your mother is anxious to hear word on who you are considering for your consort."

"Father," Draco sighed. "I really don't see what this has to do with another addition to the harem."

"It will in her eyes. Narcissa is eager to see you settling down, a new addition to your growing collection will serve as testimony to your continued stubborn and childish behavior."

"Hardly childish. I don't need a consort until I am king, which won't be for a while. And I'm only seventeen!"

"I am happy you have such faith in my health. But Draco, you are almost eighteen. And although choosing a consort can be put off, your mother wants to know that you are at least thinking about the future."

"I am thinking about the future, father, which is precisely why I'm not taking this decision lightly. I won't have someone who I cannot trust fully sitting at my side on the throne."

A proud look flashed across Lucius' face. "I will tell you my decision tomorrow after I have met with the captives."

"Yes, father," Draco murmured, and bowed before he left.

……………………………………………

Draco took the roundabout route to the Audience Hall. He wasn't sure why he did this, he had simply stepped out of his rooms and his feet had chosen the direction. Now, as he came through the halls he stopped mid-step and quickly darted into an alcove. The guards were at the doors holding the chains of the redhead and the girl, but Draco had noticed Emerald on his way down the hall. He pressed his back into the wall and began to eavesdrop.

"Honestly, Hermione. I'm worried. Do you know where that blasted git took him? It's all my fault, I shouldn't have opened my bloody mouth but I..."

"There you are!" the girl cried, supposedly to Emerald who had reached them.

"You should keep it down, you know. You're in the bloody palace and it's not like we're alone." This new voice could only be Emerald's, and Draco grinned at the statement.

"Sorry. For everything, I mean. I should have been quiet."

"We both know you would never have managed it long. And it's fine; we'll work it out. How have you been?"

"Fine, but we've been worried about you," the girl said. "Where did he take you?"

"Back to his ship. And don't worry about me. Whatever happens." There was silence and Draco frowned. What did Emerald mean by that? Was he expecting to be executed? He heard the doors open and listened to the oddly comforting sound of the clank of chains. Draco darted out of the alcove and entered through the secret passage into the Audience Hall that would bring him directly to his seat beside his father.

"Ahh, you're here," Lucius drawled as Draco bowed before taking his seat.

"I was detained but yes, I am finally here. I am sorry, father."

"Quite fine." Lucius waved the guards forward. It was a large hall and though the prisoners had entered, they had been kept at the far end. Lucius glanced at his son, "It is not the redhead, is it?" He nearly laughed at his son's wince.

"No, father. It is not the redhead."

The prisoners stood side-by-side at the foot of the dais, and Lucius eyed them skeptically. "You are the leaders of the rebellion?" The redhead rolled his eyes and muttered something. "What was that?" Lucius snarled dangerously. The redhead blanched and one of the guards smacked him soundly with the small staff he carried, and the boy dropped to the floor.

"You will answer the king!" Again the staff was raised but it was stopped by Emerald who, after grabbing the staff mid-stoke, stepped forward, despite the heavy chains held firmly in his guard's grasp, and dropped to one knee.

"Forgive my friend, my lord. He is not himself. He is unwell this morning and meant no disrespect."

Lucius frowned, first at the dark-haired boy who was still bowing, and then at the redhead. "I caution you. I will not tolerate any such disrespect."

"Yes, my lord," Emerald murmured, stepping back. After a dark glare from his friend, the redhead bowed stiffly.

Lucius eyed the three captives and then, after glancing at his son, eyed the dark-haired boy in particular. "What's your name, boy?"

After a pause, the ebony haired teenager stepped forward and, with a glance at Draco murmured, "Emerald."

Draco was surprised to find the boy so willing to talk, but was happy to hear the soft melodic voice. He was surprised by the way the boy could talk and yet say nothing. He capitulated when it was necessary, there was no way a rebel captive could remain arrogant before a king, and yet the boy's demeanor demanded respect. He was still quite magnetic. Draco wondered what conclusion his father would come to.

"Emerald?" Lucius continued to stare at the boy and Draco wondered if his father was perhaps as affected by the boy as he was. "I sentenced your friend ... Dumbledore, was it? to house arrest. What do you think I should do with you and your friends?"

"My thoughts and opinions mean little when I stand before a king," the boy answered smoothly. The redhead gagged but was quickly silenced when the girl trounced on his foot soundly.

"Do not be coy with me," Lucius reprimanded, but Draco knew his father was amused.

"I meant no offense by it."

"Your friends are sentenced to Azkaban for the duration of twenty years. And you ... I give you to my son." Draco felt like grinning, but a steady emerald gaze quickly pierced him and he felt winded. The guards immediately stepped forward to carryout their king's orders. Lucius stood and, smirking at his son, brushed off the thanks. "I will leave you to deal with your new catamite."

"Thank you, father," Draco said again and stood up as his father and the other two captives were dragged off, the redhead cursing and calling back to his friend. Emerald, however, remained quite calm. Turning to a guard, Draco said, "Call Severus. Bring him to me immediately."

……………………………………………

Severus Snape was Keeper of the King's and also the High Prince's harem. He was a quiet and strict man who despised his charges for the same reasons that Draco tired of them. The incessant scheming and constant complaints made him an irritable man, and when he arrived before Draco he looked at Emerald with distaste.

Filling out the paperwork quickly, two documents that required Draco's signature as proof that Emerald now was his property, Severus asked where the boy was to be stationed. "He will have Pansy's rooms." Severus quickly waved one of the guards to notify the girl immediately, though the order was a surprising one.

Pansy Parkinson was one of the most beautiful women in the harem and she had been given the largest rooms within it. They had a large balcony and private wash chambers and her rooms were closest to the small bridge that led to Draco's part of the palace. To be granted such a prestigious place within the harem so quickly would undoubtedly cause difficulty. Not to mention the fact that Pansy was attached to both her prince and her position in his favors, even if he had not touched her in a long while.

"She will be moved immediately."

"Good. I also would like you to have someone purchase some things for him. Clothes and other necessities."

"Yes, of course." When there seemed to be nothing else to say Severus waved the two guards that still held the chains attached to Emerald out and he followed them through the door that led back to the harem. He was just about to close it when Draco stopped him.

"Severus, do not bring him to my rooms tonight. You will tell Emerald that there is no rush, he is to come when he is ready."

Severus bowed again, "Yes, my lord."

……………………………………………

The door closed and Emerald was left alone in the large room. The guards had at least removed his shackles and it felt good to be rid of them. He felt lighter, even as he suddenly felt heavy with the realization of what had just happened. He wandered over to the large bed with diaphanous lavender hangings, the room had obviously belonged to a woman. Though it was beautifully decorated, the colors were quite feminine and it made him feel odd, emphasizing that even in his own rooms he still did not belong.

Already he ached with the loss of his friends; at least they knew his real name. He was prepared to do anything to stay alive and help them. To know a person by their name was to admit a certain level of intimacy. Though he knew it was foolish, he wasn't prepared to let anyone at the palace know he was not Emerald, but Harry. He trusted no one yet and he was fairly certain that would continue. The prince, whether he knew it or not, had tossed him into the lion's den. Pansy, the previous inhabitant of the room, had refused to move even after lengthy negotiations between her and Snape. In the end, she had been hauled from the room by three guards. Harry was certain trouble was coming his way.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. When he invited the person to enter Snape swirled into the room. "You should be more cautious about your guests," he said coolly. Harry returned the dispassionate gaze. "I understood your measurements have already been taken?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape seemed to approve of the respectful tone. "Good. I will have a few outfits sent up. Do you have a preference on the style?"

"Er ... not really," Harry said. Snape smirked at him and turned to leave. "Sir? If it's all right to ask, what time will I be called to the prince's chambers?"

Snape stopped and, without turning, said, "You will not be called. The prince gave orders that you are to notify me as soon as you feel you are ready." He shut the door and Harry sat back on his bed. Why was the prince being so respectful? It was common knowledge that new catamites always went their first night, and then there was the boat ride. Why had the prince let him ride to Agathe with him? Harry was very confused.

……………………………………………

"You're new. Ahh, you're the one Pansy's been whinging about all day, then? You're in her old room?"

Harry halted mid-step and peered into the large garden that he had only just entered. He spotted the woman immediately. "Yes."

She grinned and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. "Brilliant. All that fucking went to Pansy's head. She's the worst one here, I'd watch her if I were you." Harry nodded, but the girl waved him off. "Awfully shy, aren't you?" He found himself blushing slightly. "Ahh, sorry. I forgot, you're new, so you'd be a virgin, wouldn't you?"

"That isn't necessarily true," he said, feeling oddly defensive.

Her laughter was bright and lightened Harry's mood just to hear it. "No, of course it's not necessarily true. You've had a life before getting here, but I can always tell. The name's Cho Chang."

"Emerald." Harry shook her hand and found himself smiling.

"Has Snotty Sev showed you around? Or has he left you helpless?" she asked with an impish grin.

"Well, I..."

"He hasn't told you a thing, has he? Can't be helped, he's not very fond of us, you know. Doesn't approve of the way some of us scheme and plot."

"To do what?"

Cho shook her head. "Everyone wants to be made Consort, of course. It wasn't so bad at first. When I got here, Draco was still relatively young. Now the pressure is on; at least from the Queen. She wants to assure herself that her son will settle down accordingly and behave like a proper prince and future king. It's ridiculous, he's only seventeen, but she's always been a bit sentimental. She wants grandchildren but the prince seems undecided."

"Undecided?" Harry asked as they began to walk through the large gardens.

"Course. He likes his concubines as much as his catamites. The king doesn't care either way, his main concern is that the prince learns to be a good ruler, but the queen has always been a bit insecure. She's only ever had the one child, complications, you know. And with an entire harem waiting to step into her place she doesn't believe the king when he says that she's all he needs. I'm guessing a part of that has made her worried about Draco. She feels it's her duty to have her only child be the ideal child."

"Which he's not," Harry said, and Cho laughed.

"Get used to it, Emerald; you've entered a place where people take their melodrama with their siestas and afternoon snacks." Harry shook his head wondering if he would ever get his bearings in this place. "The harem isn't so bad, if you survive the plots. There are three swimming pools, twelve baths and ten gardens." Harry was stunned and Cho laughed at his expression.

"Right now your main concern is Pansy. She's possessive as hell of the prince. She's convinced she's to be future consort even though he hasn't gone near her in ages. Her future is looking especially dim now that he's given her room to you. You've got her full attention, as well as everyone in the harem. Play your cards well and make the right friends and maybe you won't find yourself at the pointy end of a dagger."

"They do that?"

"They'd do anything. But don't worry, if there's one thing Severus is a genius with it's looking after us. You've got his attention now too; he'll be making sure you settle in. Just don't get too dependent. If you fall out of favor with the prince he might ease up on his protection of you. It's all a matter of alliances."

"A small war," Harry said, suddenly feeling on solid ground once more.

It wasn't what he'd been thinking about. The only thing on his mind had been survival, and suddenly he was a catamite in the prince's harem. Somehow knowing exactly what he was in for made him comfortable, war was something he knew. Strategizing and manipulating had gotten him full support in his city and was what made the rebellion so successful. He was good at it, and it was comforting to know that this would no different.

"The only thing for it is to either do the impossible or do your thing and, when the prince gets bored, disappear into the shadows. There's a lot of power hiding in the shadows. You might benefit from it."

"What happened for you?"

"Me? I was given as tribute to honor the prince. He got tired of me."

Harry frowned. "That's it? He just suddenly got bored?"

"What do you think harems are for? The prince is especially known to be fleeting in his fancies."

"Was that the impossible thing that you mentioned before?"

"Yes," Cho said wryly. "It's one thing to have the prince when you first become part of the harem. It's another thing to keep the prince for any odd length of time. The standing record is three months. That's a long time. No one has ever come close to that one."

"Three months," Harry murmured.

Cho showed him around the harem. The women they encountered watched him, some with curiosity or disdain, others with an unnerving lust. The men they crossed looked him up and down measuringly and either winked, or scowled. By the time Harry made it back to his rooms he was certain that the only way to survive was to attain and then maintain the prince's affection. Unfortunately, Harry had no experience to help him establish how to do that. He knew little of the prince and his likes or dislikes, all he knew was that after a time, the prince would get bored.

Bored. The same thing over and over. It had to be a similar process for every one of the concubines and catamites, but Harry wasn't like that. He wasn't a wealthy town person, son of a nobleman or a piece of tribute, and there was a clue that the prince already was willing to view him differently, after all, there was no pressure on Harry; he wasn't being forced to go to the prince at all. He was setting the pace, he had the power.

Harry grinned and asked one of the guards outside his room to summon Snape. He had received clothes, nothing too extravagant. Snape had also given him some accessories, bracelets and anklets and the like. But it wasn't what he needed. Not quite.

"Sir," Harry asked, making sure to look respectful and properly awed, Snape liked to feel powerful. "You asked me, when I first came here three days ago, if I had a preference about clothes." When Snape only quirked an eyebrow, Harry grew bolder and flashed the smile that used to get him out of trouble with his notoriously ill-tempered aunt. Snape was nothing compared to her and Harry noticed the man softening immediately. "Would it be too late now to make a few requests?"


	2. Once the Door Has Shut

Harry sat on a fan-shaped chair by the pool. It was one thing he had observed almost immediately upon his arrival: nobody used the pools. The life of concubines and catamites alike seemed to be quite dull. Harry noticed that there were several people who would dress up in elegant clothes and swan about in the early morning or late evening. Once the sun was well established in the sky however, everyone seemed to take shelter under a roof or in a garden, where they sipped wine and munched on deserts. The children of the concubines ran tirelessly through the large complex and their shrieks seemed to meld with the sound of the cool breeze.

Harry had seen the results of such a lax way of life, and he refused to let himself be reduced to food and sex; he would keep his health. It was essential that he remain fit if he wanted to maintain the prince's attention, and that would be necessary if he wanted to turn the tables.

"Alright, out with it. I demand to know at once what it is that's bothering you," Cho said from her position on her canopied chair. She waved Gwynn off as the young woman brought out some water but Harry accepted the glass eagerly.

Gwynn had arrived after the first weekend Harry had been at the Harem. He remembered her from his journey on the prince's boat, she had been kind and was one of the first who had relaxed around him. She arrived with the news that she was to be his new servant, something that Harry was uncomfortable with as he was not at all used to having someone wait on him. Yet, Gwynn had been absolutely stubborn and in the end, when Snape had been called into the argument, Harry had immediately given in and accepted her, though over the weeks they had spent together, Gwynn had become a sort of close friend and confidante, at least as much as Harry would allow.

"I'm not sure about what I'm doing," Harry answered Cho's question honestly.

"You're sitting in a chair, relaxing in the sun. It's not one of the more complicated traditions, dear," Cho said with a smile. She had taken Harry, or rather, Emerald, under her wing, and Harry was eternally grateful to have such a good friend.

"He's given me as long as I need," Harry continued, ignoring her. "And by all accounts I'm ready ... but I'm not."

Cho looked at him appraisingly before she rose from her chair and, snatching one of the plush cushions from her seat, walked over to Harry and dropped it at his feet, settling herself on it. "You're perfectly ready," she said with confidence. "You just haven't the faintest clue what happens once you shut the door."

Harry blushed at this accurate assumption and Cho patted his knee. "It's simple," she said soothingly. "You step into the room and bow, and then he comes forward and takes over." She laughed at Harry's unconscious shiver. "You're a sweet one."

"It isn't enough, though," Harry protested. "I mean, for what ... I'm not ... I need to know more," he settled on, and she looked at him again, as if she were only now figuring him out, and then she stood up.

"I can't teach you everything," she said, and Harry nodded. He knew the restrictions that were imposed on the concubines and catamites. "The only thing you really need to know is how to pretend as if you know exactly what you're doing. And you can do that, even if you don't actually have a clue."

When it became clear he wasn't really following her she reached forward and tilted up his chin. "The only thing you need is confidence. Sex is something that is open for interpretation and experimentation; you very rarely can go wrong. The one thing that you need to know is how to kiss. After that, with your determination and his knowledge," she titled her head towards the palace. "You'll manage just fine."

"Except, I don't know how to kiss."

"Well, I wouldn't be a friend if I didn't help you with that," she answered coyly and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. After a moment she retreated and looked at him expectantly.

Harry took in a steadying breath and then blinked. "That's it?" he asked, at once shocked and disappointed.

"That's nothing. I just didn't want you going into shock or something. Here," she motioned that he move over and she settled down on the chair beside him. "You've got to trust me for this to work. And you've also got to relax." Harry nodded and she leaned forward again.

It was something she had been thinking about a great deal much to her own embarrassment, and she found she wasn't disappointed. Emerald may have not been an experienced kisser, and certainly this kiss was sloppy and hesitant, but she had missed the feel of a tentative lover who approached the body with intent to explore, rather than to conquer or pleasure. Exploration was pleasure, the most intense kind, she had found. Her lovers had known so much about sex that they couldn't do it properly to save their own souls.

Cho parted slightly to catch a breath and then leaned back into the youth, letting one hand tangle in his dark hair and the other wrap around his neck even as she felt his own hands run up her back and then down again where they settled at her hips.

They were exploring each others mouths as thoroughly as they could, running eager tongues over lower lips, and then tucking deep into the recesses of the mouth where they did battle with each other, nipping gently and gasping breaths quickly before returning to the heated perusal. Finally, Cho sat back and smiled at Emerald's dazed expression.

"That," she answered, with a dazed smile of her own, "is all you need to know about kissing." She rose from the chair quickly and left the pool. For some reason, she felt as if she could cry.

……………………………………………

The message arrived on a silver dish, brought directly to him courtesy of Gwynn, who had smiled at him encouragingly as he spotted the seal. It was a formal request from the prince asking if he would attend a large dinner party at the palace.

Harry sent back his acceptance immediately, it didn't seem like the sort of thing he could turn down, and there wasn't anything implied in the invitation that made him feel he should do so anyway. He had been worried at first, wondering if this was a sign that the prince was getting impatient, but Cho had assured him that this was quite normal, especially for new additions to the harem that still maintained the prince's interest. She had then patted his back and with a teasing smirk, told him not to screw up.

Gwynn found him amusing as they sorted through the matter of his attire for the evening. He explained that it was very important to cast the right impression, and she smiled at him in that strange way, full of amusement and approval and indulgence and shook her head in exasperation as he again tossed aside a set of robes. "I'll choose," she said, smacking his hands away gently.

In the end, she selected gray pants of some soft and thin material so that he would be cool, with a loose white shirt that was perhaps a touch too large, with laces at the collar she purposely tied improperly so that, at some point during the dinner, they might come undone. Harry had appreciated the subtle way she had done this.

When he was dressed they agreed that a simple silver necklace was perhaps best and, to make the outfit formal enough, she draped a dove gray suede cloak around his shoulders, fastening the silver clasp so that the cloak hung off his right shoulder a bit more than the left. In the end, Harry looked innocent but certainly alluring and he had grinned at his reflection before realization of what he was doing had dawned on him, and Gwynn had forced him to sit out on the balcony and catch his breath.

Harry had yet to speak with the prince and he had not spoken to Snape about being 'ready'. The clothes he had especially ordered had arrived about a week before, but Harry didn't feel right about it. Perhaps the dinner would be what he needed to reestablish his confidence and his courage. Or so he hoped, he was getting weary of the Keeper's measuring looks.

"Sir?" Gwynn's soft voice called from just inside the room. He stood and brushed the lavender curtains aside, they were starting to drive him mad and he wondered if it would be presumptuous to ask for the room to be redecorated. He figured it wouldn't be right to start demanding things from Snape before he fully accepted his responsibilities. "It's time to go. Snape is just outside, he's going to escort you." Harry nodded and adjusted his cloak, taking a deep breath before he opened the doors to his room and followed Snape out of the harem and into the palace.

……………………………………………

Draco sat at the head table, bored beyond words. His father had entered into a discussion about the proper construction of merchant ships and his mother was talking about the state of the temples in some of the cities. Neither conversation appealed to him; and, as he watched the guests chattering and eating before him, he was starting to get a bit of a headache, Draco wasn't certain if he should blame the loud voices or the heavy perfumes.

A clump of late dinner guests filed into the room and stepped towards the dais to make their abeyance to the king. Draco spotted Snape immediately and took note of the boy beside him. He squinted to get a better look at the slim youth that accompanied the stoic Keeper, and then felt himself perking up immediately.

Emerald had sent his acceptance, but Draco had still wondered. It had been over three weeks and still the boy had not stepped forward. Draco wondered if perhaps Emerald was going to take advantage of Draco and simply refuse altogether. There had been a few times when he wondered if it were the right decision but now, seeing the boy so alluringly outfitted and flashing coy glances from beneath ruffled bangs, Draco was certain he had been correct.

As Snape brought the boy over and they bowed together, Draco found himself stifling a grin. He wanted to request that both men join his table but by the time he thought of it, they had already turned to take their seats at a small table just to the right, and he was disinclined to draw attention by calling them back. Instead he watched closely as Emerald began to interact with the guests. Chance had seated the ebony haired boy in full sight and the blonde took advantage of this. He devoured all the shy smiles and stifled laughs and nervous glances that the boy offered to the other guests.

Draco also noticed that he was not the only one devouring the boy from a distance, and yet Emerald was completely oblivious to it all. He didn't notice how, near the end of the meal, the loose ties at his shirt collar had undone, leaving his pale chest partially exposed, or how the women at his table had leaned forward as it had happened.

Draco was struck by how open the boy was with his feelings, not bothering to mask his uncertainty or anxiety. Everything shone through his green eyes, and by the end of the meal when his father had stood and announced his intention retire for the evening, Draco felt his patience snap.

……………………………………………

Harry followed Snape back to the harem, both of them entirely silent. On the way to dinner Snape had lectured Harry about proper manners and correct decorum. Harry had listened, but his nerves had made him unable to focus very well and most of it had flown over his head. Walking back, Harry had to admit that he felt uncomfortable in the silence.

They arrived at his rooms and Harry opened the doors, hesitating before he stepped inside. "Good night," Snape said calmly as he turned to leave. Harry nodded distractedly, looking around the room before turning quickly back.

"Wait!" Harry called.

Snape turned to him, walking back slowly until he stood very close to Harry, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?" Snape asked in his usual drawl.

Harry took a deep breath. He had noticed that Snape avoided saying his name as much as possible, and Harry returned the gesture by always referring to the Keeper as 'Snape', rather than 'Severus' as some of the others did, and when he spoke to the man Harry was always careful to refer to the man as 'sir', usually in as respectful a tone as he could manage.

"Sir, I just – er – I mean to say ... could you –" Harry trailed off and frowned, wondering how the hell he was supposed to say what he wanted to. Finally, he settled on the most obvious. "I'm ready, sir … I think –" he tacked on, and looked at Snape with a sheepish, hesitant look.

The eyebrow rose higher. "Indeed," Snape said. "I will notify the prince immediately," Snape added and gave Harry a strange look that, on anyone else, Harry might have interpreted as approval and a tinge of respect but with Snape was probably indigestion.

"Th-thank-you, sir," Harry said, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Good-night, Emerald," Snape said in a cool drawl that belied the words. Harry smiled a bit to himself and then hurried into his rooms where he promptly tumbled into a chair, completely aghast at himself for what he had just done.

……………………………………………

Draco was pacing. It was a habit that he had perfected over the years and he had worked out the ideal path through his rooms and the antechamber and his study. And he walked it again in a vain attempt to keep himself in check.

As the doors to his rooms were opened and the arrival of Severus Snape was announced Draco immediately quit his pacing and stood in what he hoped was a calm and collected, awe-inspiring position.

"Severus," Draco said as the man bowed and stepped into the rooms, Draco had ended his pacing in his study and he noticed that the servant that had introduced the Keeper had quietly closed the doors. "I have a request."

"First," Severus said, interrupting Draco and catching him off-guard. "I have to notify you of something. I have received word."

"Word," Draco repeated, dumbly. He didn't really care, he wanted Emerald delivered to his rooms and he wanted it done as soon as was humanly possible.

"Emerald has notified me that he feels he is ready, my lord," Severus stated coolly.

Draco opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. "Emerald –"

"Is ready," Severus clarified.

"Oh," Draco stated stupidly, embarrassed by the soft crack in his voice.

There was a moment of awkward silence. "Your request?"

"Erm. Yes." Draco attempting to process the news and determine the best course of action; while he didn't want to seem too eager, he'd be damned if it weren't true. And then there was the fact that he had been waiting patiently for over three weeks and didn't want it to end too quickly. "Tomorrow, I think," Draco said. "Tell him to come tomorrow."

……………………………………………

Harry was woken early the next morning by desperate shakes and an eager looking Gwynn. He batted her hands away and tried to burrow under his blankets, but she was insistent and Harry found himself being dragged through the harem to one of the baths, still half asleep and without a single clue as to what was going on.

The outdoor baths were very lovely. Similar in many respects to the pools, the baths were very large, but the ivory roof supported by ivory columns, wrapped with vines distinguished this path from the pools. Gwynn dragged him inside quickly and began to arrange the various products she had brought with her.

The white tiles glinted in the faint morning light and as Harry was pushed down the steps and into the water he couldn't help but feel distinctly out of place. The only time he had ever seen such materials was at the temples back home.

Witnessing Gwynn's impatient glance Harry washed quickly having been woken enough by the cool water to be able to function. He had grown oddly accustomed to the spicy scent of the soap Gwynn always made him use, which she made it herself, as she did all the various products that she used on him. It seemed a complex process to go through but whenever he brought it up and asked why she wouldn't just go to the market or use the stuff that was always set out, she would look at him with a complex expression that Harry could never quite decipher. Sometimes it seemed as if the look was amused, other times sad, though why the question would make her sad, he had no clue. Either way, Harry had learned not to comment on it, and he trusted Gwynn enough to let her do whatever she thought best.

After he was clean, Gwynn ushered him out of the water and stood him on a platform, where he felt as if he were on display and was incredibly grateful that it was still too early for the other occupants of the harem to be up and about.

The first tweak of pain caused him to yelp and leap backwards, as far away from Gwynn as possible. He scowled at her but she merely quirked an eyebrow. "It has to be done," she said simply and moved forward, brandishing the tweezers as if they were a weapon.

Another tweak of pain and Harry cursed the hair on both his legs. "You're lucky you don't have much hair to begin with," she said. When he winced once more a fleeting look of sympathy crossed her face. "It will become easier, in time," Gwynn explained, likely to distract him from the tweezers as they continued to pluck him as if he were a chicken. "Soon the hairs simply won't grow anymore."

"Isn't there a faster way?" Harry asked. In truth, Gwynn was actually working quite quickly and was making good progress, but it was still quite unpleasant for Harry and if there was any way for the process to either be speeded up further, or cutout altogether, then Harry would be more than happy to try it.

"No. You'll get used to it," she repeated. There was no sympathy in her voice and Harry assumed it was because, as a woman and as a servant of the palace, she had already had to endure the ghastly business.

Harry wasn't sure how long it took. By breakfast his legs were bare, though a bit reddish and sensitive. Gwynn simply placed a bowl of fruit on a pillar-like table beside him and went back to work. Much to Harry's dismay, he was informed that by the end of the ordeal he would be hairless, with the exception of the ruffled ebony locks on his head and his eyebrows and lashes.

There followed an argument in which Gwynn refused to be put off, but had agreed to at least leave Harry with some pubic hair. "Is that how men establish their manhood?" Gwynn had asked, teasingly, and Harry had been blushing so furiously he had been unable to speak.

The time he had spent at the harem, almost a full month, had forced him to become accustomed to other people, (although it was only Gwynn so far, and soon to be prince as well) seeing him naked. He also was used to seeing other people naked, but that didn't mean that it stopped him from being embarrassed about any of it, and certainly he had not adjusted to bawdy teasing. Gwynn simply laughed and returned to her work.

After Harry was satisfactorily rid of the unsightly hairs he was told to bathe again, this time with scented soap that soothed his skin, as well as his nerves. Afterwards, Gwynn gave him a lengthy massage to make up for his otherwise unpleasant morning, and by the end of it all Harry was so relaxed that he had almost forgotten about what was to happen later that night.

Cho joined him for lunch and she did her best to distract him from thoughts about the evening, and the rest of the day passed in a blur for Harry. As relaxed as the massage had made him, he was still incredibly nervous about the evening, and as the hour grew later it became increasingly difficult for him to relax as both Gwynn and Cho were insisting he do.

Finally, Gwynn came and pulled him back inside, insisting that it was time to get ready. She brought out the robes he had specified and set to work.

Harry had, as nonchalantly as possible, outlined how he would like to look for the evening and it was oddly comforting to know that there was someone else who knew his plan and was fully ready to help him as much as possible. It was a bit odd, as Gwynn trotted out some makeup and set out some gold pieces of jewelry, but she promised that she wouldn't make him look ridiculous, and he trusted her enough to keep his mouth shut.

He tried to sit still but found it difficult and, much to Gwynn's aggravation, there was always a part of him moving. If it wasn't restless squirming in his seat, he was drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair in which he was reclining, or he was swinging his legs, or shifting his head away from the various brushes that Gwynn had to use to apply the makeup around his eyes.

Finally Gwynn had announced that she was finished and just applying the final touches, and Harry couldn't have been more relieved. He tapped his foot, and managed to keep the rest of him still to allow her to complete her task.

The knock on the door startled Harry, and for one irrational moment he wondered if it was the prince who had grown impatient, or perhaps someone coming to give him the message that he wasn't needed, both options seemed equally plausible to his frazzled mind.

Instead, Gwynn opened the door to find Severus Snape, and the strange look in the dark eyes as the Keeper surveyed Harry was quite disconcerting, but it seemed to make Gwynn very proud, so he took it for a good sign. "I have come to escort you," Snape murmured. Cho had not mentioned that possibility. In fact, Cho had regaled him with how nerve-racking the long walk to the prince's quarters had been. She hadn't had anyone with her.

"Thank-you – sir," Harry said, still jittery and now equally unnerved about Snape's odd behavior. Snape simply walked through Harry's room and opened the glass doors onto the patio. Harry took a bracing breath and looked to Gwynn, who fixed his robe and brushed his hair back before smiling and giving him an encouraging nod. With a decisive nod, Harry turned and followed his Keeper.

It was a surprise to see Snape holding open a small gate just outside of his room. Harry wondered why he had never noticed that the guardrail on his balcony had a gate that attached to a small bridge. It finally dawned on him that he really had been given the best rooms within the entire harem, with private access to the prince's chamber. It made odd butterflies leap in his stomach and he tried to quell them.

"Hurry along," Snape said and Harry nodded, clutching at his robes awkwardly. He felt somewhat silly, dressed up as he was in front of Snape, but the dark haired man didn't seem to mind at all. "You will, of course, have to take this route on your own when you return," Snape said.

"Of course," Harry managed, voice sounding constricted. He took another deep breath after all, his plan wasn't going to work if he went about pussyfooting around the prince like the virgin that he was. The sweet smell of the night jasmine calmed him and he sighed, trying not to think about anything except what a beautiful night it was.

"It is better," Snape said after they had walked in silence for a bit. "To take your cues from the prince." Harry nodded, though he really didn't understand what his Keeper had meant. "Here you go," Snape said as they came to stop out front of a set of doors.

"Thank-you," Harry said, not really knowing what he was thanking the man for. Snape simply nodded and continued to wait and it dawned on Harry that the man was waiting until Harry had opened the doors, and he quickly stepped forward, knocking softly before opening the door and slipping inside.

……………………………………………

Draco had been expecting Emerald and had made sure to keep his study door open so that he could keep an eye on his bedroom. After a while, he had become engrossed in the documents pertaining to his father's earlier years when he had been a general in the army. Draco had always been fascinated by his father's brilliance with regards to warfare. The tactics he had employed were incredible, and it had enabled him to expand the empire.

It was because of his fascination that Draco did not hear the quiet knock, and continued to leaf through the documents on his study desk before a strange tingling causing the hairs at the nape of his neck to rise made him lift his head, and he noticed a splotch of red out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, Draco blinked several times before he was able to process what he saw. The boy was dressed in a fashion that made Draco's mouth water; he wore black boots and black leather pants cut low enough that they allowed Draco to see part of Emerald's slim hips, as well as a portion of his mid-section since the dark red top he was wearing was short, stopping just above the boy's belly-button. Draco could clearly see the strange Celtic knot design that encircled the boy's navel. There was a tunic overtop of the tight red shirt, in a darker shade of the same color and it was left unbuttoned, and a long red cloak, so dark it appeared to be almost black was around the boy's shoulders, clasped with a golden clasp.

Emerald's skin was tanned, luminescent in the soft light in the room. Dark kohl outlined his green eyes and Draco was certain it was a hint of glitter that made the other boy's face and neck gleam. He wondered if there was glitter in other places as well, and decided to find out.

Emerald was standing close to a pillar by the doors, not quite leaning though his position was relaxed. As Draco entered his bedroom Emerald stepped forward, inclining his head respectfully. At that moment, Draco was reminded that this was not one of the idle wealthy boys whom he had taken a liking to. No, this was the cause of the rebellion that had almost succeeded in relieving the Edorean Empire of one of its largest agricultural providers. This bow that the boy gave was just enough to placate Draco's pride, but not anywhere near the humble bows he was used to, especially when in a situation such as this. He was intrigued.

It was somewhat surprising for Draco when he discovered that it had become difficult to speak, the tempter that stood so casually in his doorway, completely prepared, watching him with hooded eyes, was not at all what he had been expecting. It was Emerald's first time, of that there was no doubt, yet even still, there he was, as if he were the one about to seduce Draco into bed.

Slowly, when Draco made no further move, Emerald stepped further into the room, toeing off his boots, and they stood facing each other, separated by a mere seven paces that seemed to Draco to be both exhilaratingly close, and agonizingly distant. Emerald was just out of reach, his bare feet pale against the deep blue rug. Entranced, he could only watch as Emerald approached. A slim hand snaked out from beneath the dark robe and Draco caught a glimmer of a gold armband, the glinting light making the boy before him appear even more surreal.

Draco was only distantly aware that no words had been exchanged between them. Emerald stood in the center of the bedroom, confident in a way and poised in a way unlike any of the harem's initiates had ever been. Not all of Draco's concubines and catamites had come to him untried, but they had always sought to cast the illusion of virginity.

Draco watched the boy's hands as they rose to the clasp that held his cloak. Deftly, the fingers pried the clasp free and let the cloak slither to the floor, lying in a pool around his feet. Draco's breath hitched a bit, as the tunic met a similar fate, sliding easily off the lithe form. Unable to control himself, Draco stepped closer but the dark haired boy simply took a step back, bringing him closer to Draco's bed. Draco wondered if the boy knew in what direction he moved, but coherent thought was interrupted as Emerald's hands strayed to the complex ties that fastened the leather pants he wore.

Draco held his breath, eyes focused on slender fingers as they dug into the knot and set it free, allowing the pieces of the cords to fall loose, but not making a move to push off the pants. He could see the boy's slender hips clearly from the space between the short top and the unfastened pants, and he took another step wanting to touch, wanting. Emerald held his gaze as he lowered himself back onto the bed, fingers still wound in the dark laces of the pants, and Draco followed him, until he stood by the bed, looking down at the enticing tempter who lay there incongruously blushing as he offered himself. It was a quick reminder that no matter what illusion Emerald cast he was untried, and Draco took a steadying breath, reminding himself to proceed slowly despite the burgeoning desire that urged him onward, and quickly.

He let his eyes wander from the bare feet, up slim legs, and over the glimpse of hips that peaked alluringly and tantalized Draco with the promise of satin-soft flesh; over the tight stomach, admiring the dark ink design, and up to the boy's eyes. The eyes were wide and Draco licked his lips in anticipation. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, Draco pulled off his loose shirt. He did not wear a covering tunic as he had been awaiting his latest catamite. His chest was a faint gold in the soft light and he watched as the moss green eyes strayed over his exposed flesh before returning to pierce Draco with an indiscernible look. Draco searched for traces of fear and was not entirely surprised when he found none. Encouraged, he raised a hand to undo the laces of his pants only to find the movement stopped by a cool hand covering his.

Emerald sat up from the bed and crossed his arms, taking the bottom of his short top into his hands and pulling it up and over his head before casting it off to land on the floor at the side of the bed before he lay back down against the pillows. It was Draco's turn to let his eyes wander. Emerald's chest was toned but the boy was still lithe and slender and Draco ached to run his hands over the smooth expanse of flesh, and then follow the path of his hands with his tongue, devouring the tempter alive.

In an attempt to distract himself and also speed the progress of things, Draco loosed the knots on his pants and pulled them off, pausing for a moment to allow Emerald to eye his now naked form before he placed a knee onto the edge of the bed and let the hand that was not braced against the bed to run up Emerald's thigh, over his hip and up to the slim neck.

Emerald rose and pushed himself further back in the bed and for a moment Draco wondered if this was where the line was drawn and the smooth tempter became the nervous virgin, but Emerald simply resettled further back on the pillows, arching his hips up and peeling the leather pants slowly down past his hips and then off his legs.

Again, Draco found himself wetting his lips and he crawled forward, bracing his hands on either side of Emerald's head as he leant forward and touched his lips to the soft pink ones of the boy beneath him.

It started out soft and tentative, because in Draco's experience it was wiser to go slow with someone inexperienced. Somewhere along the way, fuelled by Draco's undeniable lust and Emerald's surprisingly unresisting and talented tongue, a fire was lit between them and Draco found himself burning with an unchecked need that he had not experienced in a very long time.

He pushed his tongue into Emerald's mouth, rubbing it fleetingly against Emerald's own tongue and around before he drew it out, only to push it back in, slowly fucking Emerald's willing mouth. Beneath him, Emerald's body was already beginning to arch into his touch as Draco's hands teased nipples and caressed skin that felt as soft as it had looked in the lamplight.

Reluctantly, Draco withdrew from Emerald's responsive mouth and licked and nipped his way down his slender neck, teasing out low moans and short, shaky breaths. His exploration led him to a sensitive spot on Emerald's body, at the junction between neck and shoulders, and as he sucked steadily at the spot, reveling in Emerald's tightly closed eyes and strangled moans, Draco let his hands wander further down to part the boy's slim thighs.

A sucked-in breath made him pause and he looked up to see uncertainty lurking in green eyes, which somehow only served to arouse Draco all the more. He lifted himself up once more to Emerald's kiss bruised lips and kissed the boy thoroughly until the form beneath him was once again relaxed and, with his tongue serving as distraction, pushed the thighs apart. This time they moved willingly and one leg bent at the knee, foot bracing against the mattress as Draco's hand ran up and then down the leg.

When he was certain Emerald was calm, Draco returned to the path his mouth had been on before. He tongued the boy's right nipple, savoring the quick, erratic breaths he was rewarded with and watched as the eyes that had fallen shut during their kiss squinted tightly closed as the boy's breath caught and held when Draco's hand strayed closer to Emerald's throbbing erection.

Finally, when he was rewarded with a hitched sob, Draco bent his head and took the boy into his mouth, one hand still running over the thigh, and the other questing in the night table for the oil.

Emerald's hands were clutching the sheets in tight fists that made the knuckles white, and the boy was taking in tiny hitched breaths when he wasn't exhaling in soft moans and Draco continued sucking him, taking him entirely into his mouth and then lifting his head, letting his tongue run up the underside of the heavy cock, tonguing the head in quick strokes before once again taking him in.

With a skill that came from practice, Draco managed to open the little bottle and get a sufficient amount of oil onto his fingers before he brushed the bottle aside, vaguely hoping that it hadn't smashed on the floor, before he brought his hand up, lifting Emerald's hips and letting one digit circle the boy's entrance, waiting until Emerald grew adjusted to the new sensation before pushing the digit slowly inside.

The eyes that had been closed snapped open, and the mouth was open in a silent 'oh' of surprise and Draco concentrated harder on the cock in his mouth, letting Emerald adjust to the intruder.

Slowly, he began to move his finger, looking for the sweet spot. The sudden gasp and tightening of the already tight passage around his questing digit assured Draco that he had found his target. Emerald arched his hips off the bed, eyes opening wider in surprise, and Draco began to stroke the spot in earnest before slipping in a second finger. It was welcomed into the passage by a groan and a shift of slim hips and Draco concentrated on his dual tasks before a sharp gasp and tensing of the body beneath him warned him that Emerald was close. He backed off quickly, smirking at the disappointed moan and tried to placate the boy by inserting another digit. Flexing his fingers in an effort to loosen the boy, but he himself was on the brink and he pulled the fingers free, fisted his own cock until it was adequately coated with oil before positioning himself above Emerald. Green eyes opened and Draco held Emerald's gaze as he slowly penetrated the beautiful boy beneath him.

Emerald's breath was sucked-in through clenched teeth. A slight wince was the only sign of discomfort in the dark-haired boy, and Draco waited a moment before he began to move. Coherent thought became impossible. Draco tried to keep his eyes open, to watch the various expressions of pleasure flash over the face beneath him as he had quickly learned that Emerald's expressions were arousing and intoxicating, but his eyes drifted shut and all he could do was thrust into the tight heat and turn Emerald's choked gasps and strangled moans into oxygen.

The world seemed to be spinning faster and faster until it was out of control and colors splashed across the backs of his eyelids and then turned to white, blinding and brilliant, and he was aware that someone was crying out, and it took a moment to realize that it was him, that it was his choked cry that was rebounding off the walls before he collapsed, unable to brace himself any longer.

……………………………………………

Harry opened his eyes. His muscles were amazingly relaxed and he felt boneless and limp. It took him a moment to remember that the reason for this was not the exquisite massage Gwynn had given him the other morning, and when he did he turned slowly to see soft blond hair and the prince's relaxed features lying on the edge of a pillow.

Walking with Snape over to the prince's quarters, the other night, Harry had been filled with anxiety, but once he had stepped inside and it had been only him and the prince things became easier. He had stood just inside the prince's quarters and remembered the boat ride where, even then, he had been performing a role. Standing there, seeing the expression on the blond royal's features, Harry had realized that he could do it. He had distanced himself the way Cho had said, and it had become so easy to just step out of his body for a moment and watch it happen.

The night had gone as well as Harry could have hoped, but that left the issue of appropriate morning-after conduct. What was proper protocol for a catamite? Should he stay in bed until the prince dismissed him? But then, what if the prince awoke and was disgusted to find him still in his bed? What if the prince had not enjoyed last night? Harry couldn't remember the other youth's reactions as he had been too far-gone to notice. What if the prince was angry at his forwardness and despite everything the plan had failed?

Harry decided that it would be easier to get dressed and get out of the prince's chambers, if it was the wrong choice, then let the reprimand come to him when he had calmed down and was dressed and the memories of the night before had faded. He didn't think he could face the prince again so soon, especially if they were both still naked and standing in the bedroom.

Resolved, Harry attempted to slip from the beneath the covers only to realize that at some point during the night, the prince had thrown an arm around his waist, and the loose grip had become almost vice-like as he had attempted to move. Harry was tempted to struggle or pry the arm away, but the cryptic words Snape had muttered the night before suddenly had context.

Harry reluctantly changed his plan and resolved to take his cues from the prince. With a sigh, he settled down in the pillows and tried to think about anything other than the night before. It was a difficult task for his exhausted body and he soon gave in to sleep.

……………………………………………

When Harry awoke again, he refused to open his eyes. He was painfully aware of three things. One, he was naked. Two, he was not in his own bed, and three, the prince, who was also naked, was awake and watching him.

"Open your eyes, little Emerald," came the soft instruction, and Harry turned the sigh into a yawn and opened his eyes reluctantly. He became aware of the fact that the prince was tracing the inking that Gwynn had done around his navel and the soft touch was giving Harry butterflies.

"Good morning," the prince greeted with a smile. Harry blinked, wondering where his voice had gone, his silence only seemed to amuse the prince more. "I thought that after last night we might have gotten past this," the prince said, clearly trying to stop the smile from turning into a grin. Harry blinked again and opened his mouth, but a strange half-choked sound escaped from it and he quickly closed it again. "This design," the prince continued, as if his bedmate had not become suddenly mute. "It's a protection and luck charm."

Harry looked down at the black design. Gwynn had wanted to put it on, but he had been reluctant at first. But she had seemed determined, and in the end he had allowed her to paint it on. "Gwynn did it," he found himself saying. Was that his voice? It sounded strange, roughened. He realized, with a sudden blush that only made him feel more embarrassed, that his voice was likely rough because of all the cries the prince's torture had elicited from him.

"Gwynn?" the prince asked, and then he seemed to recognize the name and nodded. "It's permanent?"

"Henna," Harry corrected. He had been completely against permanent tattoos and Gwynn had agreed with him. The finger that was tracing the pattern dipped into his navel and Harry held his breath for a moment, willing himself not to blush and to calm down. The prince seemed to watch him with interest, and Harry forced his thoughts on safer subjects.

"Did it work?" the prince asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Did it work?"

Harry blinked and realized the prince meant the charm; he let his breath out and glanced up into the soft gray eyes. "Yes," he answered and wasn't surprised that it came out as a whisper.

"Good," the prince said with conviction. Harry watched as the blond rose from bed, slipping a robe around his shoulders and padded towards the door. Harry berated himself for not leaving earlier as it was obvious he wasn't needed anymore, but then the prince turned around and quirked an eyebrow. "Stay there for a moment," he ordered, before opening the door to a side room and disappearing through it.

At first, Harry curled up under the blankets, embarrassed and awkward, but it occurred to him that the prince had already seen him naked, so he settled on half-sitting up in bed, so that he could bolt out of the bedroom if he needed.

When the prince returned he undid the ties of his robe and let it fall to the floor before he climbed back onto bed. If he noticed that Harry had begun to blush furiously and was desperately attempting to avoid looking at him then he didn't mention it, for which Harry was immensely grateful.

"I ordered breakfast," the prince explained. "You'll eat with me, of course." Harry nodded mutely and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the blond, only to find that those gray eyes were already looking at him.

"I have a meeting this morning," the prince began. "With some of the nobles at court." Harry picked at the sheets, wondering why the prince was telling him his plans for the day. "But afterward, I intend to walk through the animal keep. I dislike walking alone. You will join me."

Harry smiled a little and risked another glance at the blond; there was a strange gleam in the gray eyes, but otherwise the prince seemed to be merely issuing an order. Without waiting for a response from Harry hecontinued his monologue. "I'm not sure if you're aware of the breadth of species that are in the palace zoo." Harry allowed himself to become distracted with the prospect, he'd seen sheep and cows, and large working horses and the like, but he'd always imagined what a lion or a panther might look like.

Breakfast came midway through the prince's description of his own contributions to the palace zoo and Harry tried not to look openly awkward and embarrassed as the servant came right into the bedroom where it plain as ever that the crown prince and Harry himself were completely naked, but it was not very difficult to guess what had happened the night before. A tray was settled onto his lap and Harry managed a wan smile and a nod of thanks, and was startled when the servant boy winked at him before departing.

"I hope this is enough food. If you find you would like more I can have it brought up," the prince said offhandedly as he began to clump the scrambled eggs onto a slice of veal and, scooping a sampling of both onto his fork, ate it with an approving nod.

"Thank-you," Harry managed. He tried to look very elegant, or at the very least marginally coordinated as he cut his veal but his hands had started to shake from his nerves and Harry dropped his knife and it clattered loudly as it hit the plate.

With a furious blush Harry set down his fork and tried something safer, the goblet of juice. Yet, as Harry tried to sip it he spilt some down his chin, and in his haste to set the goblet down he knocked the plate again. Wiping his chin with the serviette Harry made a decision and tucked his hands safely away from the tray and turned to analyze the rather interesting wall beside him.

He was startled to feel fingers underneath his chin, carefully tugging his face to turn towards the prince. Reluctantly, Harry complied with the fingers and found himself facing the prince, who had an expression of slight amusement which quickly turned to a heated look that Harry could not quite name. "Don't ever hide that face away again," the prince said in a hushed voice. Harry really wished he could stop blushing.

……………………………………………

It felt odd, walking the bridge back to his room. Harry found that he was a mess of conflicting emotions and wasn't really quite sure where to begin in his analysis of just what it was that he was feeling.

Not that he had much time to contemplate it, as soon as he stepped into his rooms Gwynn leapt up and ushered him outside and towards the bath where he had been the day before. "Take a nice relaxing bath," she crooned as she stripped him of his clothes and herded him into the water. "I'll give you a massage and then you can rest for a bit."

It sounded like a wonderful plan to Harry, but there was one single problem. "The prince wanted me to meet him later today to go to the zoo." Gwynn's hands, which had been sorting through the basket of bathing things she had brought, faltered and she looked at him with excitement. "Er," Harry said, not sure what the look meant. "He didn't say what time."

"He wanted to see you?" she asked.

"Well, he wanted to go to the zoo, and he doesn't like to go by himself."

"Today? This afternoon?"

"Yes. But he didn't tell me the time. When do you think I should be –"

"Harry!" the cry cut him off and he spun around and tried to see from his position in the bath,where Cho was coming from. "Tell me all about it!" she cried as she finally appeared, shoving the leaves from some of the foliage that made a privacy screen surrounding the bathhouse.

"I'm in the middle of a bloody bath!" he cried.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," she brushed off. "How was it?"

Harry was silent as he continued to lather the soap onto his arms. "It was –" he licked his lips nervously. "It felt," he corrected. "Really – good," he finished lamely. Cho was grinning at him, and Gwynn was trying to look disapprovingly at Cho for interrupting his bath but Harry could easily see that she was smiling too.

"Did your plan work?" Cho asked. He'd confided in both women about his plan to keep the prince's attention.

"It's only been one night!" Harry cried. "How should I know?"

"They're going to the zoo together. This afternoon," Gwynn gossiped. Harry didn't know what the big deal was, it was only the zoo after all, but he kept his thoughts to himself and continued to wash as Gwynn and Cho began planning what he should wear.

……………………………………………

Harry was fascinated; he tried to appear aloof and listen to the prince's ramblings about the acquisition of each animal, but he had soon given up on that. Each animal was simply incredible, from the very fierce: lions, leopards, tigers and poisonous snakes, to the very tame: dogs, llamas, and nightingales. The palace zoo had everything and, Harry decided, they were all extraordinary.

"You enjoyed it, then?" the prince asked as they walked back towards the castle. At some point between the leopards and the rabbits, Draco had taken possession of Harry's hand and Harry hadn't felt any urge to reclaim it. He was completely aware that they were heading back towards the palace, but it took a moment to realise that Draco was not walking towards the harem, nor did he seem prepared to relinquish hold of Harry's hand.

Harry glanced nervously at the blond boy who was talking on about the animals, asking which one had been Harry's favourite. Harry was barely aware that he had answered the question, thoughts trapped in the idea that he was once again heading towards the prince's chambers. He wondered why the idea made him feel suddenly very warm despite the breeze and quickly quelled the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

……………………………………………

Harry lay in a sprawl, the sheets twisted and falling off the bed and he, completely nude and feeling not at all self-conscious. He had gotten used to spending his nights in Draco's bed, and part of his mornings as well. Three weeks and the prince had never once forgotten him, either sending a message requesting his presence in the evening, or inviting him out to explore some part of the palace.

It had become a routine, like his swimming and walks in the enclosed gardens in the harem. As he lay on his stomach watching the prince walk about the room nude and erect, Harry had to admit that his thoughts were stuck on a conversation he had had with Cho earlier that week.

Thinking back to that first night, Harry remembered how he had felt when the prince had taken him into his mouth. Cho had explained it to him, but to Harry it still seemed awkward and uncomfortable. Still, he had thought about it throughout the week and now, as he watched the prince, his lover, smiling and walking back towards the bed, Harry wondered if he just might be able to manage.

He reached out a hand and grasped the prince's forearm, tugging him gently onto the bed and then before the blond could get any ideas, Harry scooted forward pressing the lithe blond back onto the bed. Harry straddled the boy's hips, it was a familiar position, and shifting down to settle onto the other's thighs, Harry glanced at the thick cock. It was a bit daunting and he could just imagine blundering the entire thing horribly and getting thrown out, and the prince never wanting to see him again. But then if he did not try it how could he ever learn? Wasn't it his very flexibility and spontaneity that kept the prince interested?

Decided, Harry bent forward and wrapped his lips around the head of the cock, his hand wrapping around the base. It felt strange and a bit awkward, but he quickly adjusted. Cho had said that he should look at the entire thing as if he were eating a sweet. It was nothing remotely like that, but recalling the prince's licks and the way his mouth had moved around Harry's own cock, he decided that perhaps she had a point.

He could taste salty pre-come and though it was strange, it was not entirely unpleasant, and Harry liked the way that the prince was moaning. He eased more of the cock into his mouth and began to bob his head, periodically taking more of it in. Amazingly, he seemed to be adjusting to it and the prince's breath was a myriad of strange hiccupping moans and cracked groans and, when he was lucid enough to form words, supplication.

It made Harry feel oddly powerful, and yet at the same time eager to please. He continued relentlessly until he had deep throated the entire cock and the prince was clearly fighting not to buck his hips, which Harry greatly appreciated because it would likely make him choke. The idea of what he was doing sunk in and Harry shifted, rubbing his own erection against the sheets. The sensation was electric and he moaned, repeating the action.

"Ah!" the prince cried in a half-sob. Harry felt a hand shift to his shoulder and squeeze and only then was he aware that the prince's hands had previously been in his hair. "Co – coming!" the prince said in an almost whispered sob and Harry panicked, wondering what he should do, he knew he couldn't swallow with the entire cock in his throat, and acting quickly, he eased back a bit, wrapping his hand around the base and Draco came violently with an exultant cry on his lips.

Harry backed up and let the spent cock slip from between his lips, aware that he was very aroused and that he was also very, very nervous. He braved a glance up at Draco and noticed that the blond had his eyes closed. Licking his lips nervously, Harry shifted off the other's body and slithered up the bed.

He looked at the prince and noticed that not only were Draco's eyes closed, but also he seemed to be out cold. For a moment Harry almost thought that he had killed him, but then the blond shifted and sighed and blinked open the familiar storm-gray eyes. A slow grin split his face as Draco met Harry's eyes.

"You never cease to amaze me," Draco said, and Harry felt a blush.

"It wasn't – I wasn't – bad?" he asked. Draco quirked an eyebrow and his grin softened and became more amused. Harry received his answer in the form of a deep kiss, and gladly allowed the blond to roll him onto his back and plunder his mouth.

"Your turn, Emerald," Draco said. I definitely have to do that more often, Harry thought, liking the reaction that it evoked in his lover, and then all lucid thought was cut off when Draco's clever fingers began to exploit Harry's body, and he resigned himself to disjointed thoughts and lots of moaning.

\----------------------------  
End Chapter Two:


	3. The Serpent's Coil

It was hypnotic. Draco watched, entranced, as the cobra reared up, its tongue flickering as it stared into bright green eyes. Draco's lover did not move, simply returned the gaze appearing as intrigued by the snake as the snake seemed by him.

"He's a regular snake charmer, that one," Remus Lupin, keeper of the snakes and beasts in the palace zoo, said as he smiled at the sight. Emerald knelt in the stone room surrounded by what Draco approximated was at least a dozen snakes of differing colours. He knew that at least three of the snakes twining around his lover were lethal and yet none seemed to display any interest in harming the youth who knelt among them.

"You have no idea," Draco muttered as he kept an eye on his lover. "He comes here often?"

"Quite often. I look out for him naturally, but they never move to strike him. His presence calms them, I think." They each held their breath as an asp twined its way up the catamite's body, but the dark-haired youth appeared not the least bit disturbed, he tilted his head to one side so the asp could peak over his shoulder and join the staring contest with the cobra. "Incredible," Remus breathed.

"Incredible," Draco breathed. "How long does he usually stay? I'd call him, but you understand that I have no wish to startle him, or his friends." Draco looked away from the fascinating scene long enough to cast an amused smirk at the other man.

"So long as you make no move to enter I don't think they would mind, but if you will wait here, I can go round to the other entrance and let him know you are waiting." As Remus cast a sketched a stiff bow and headed off to relay the message, Draco continued to observe the green eyed young man from the window, unable to fathom the strange relationship his lover had with the serpents. Over three months and yet Draco still found himself surprised by the enigmatic young man.

It had been some time since Draco had been entertained by only one individual; over three months of monogamy to a particularly intriguing catamite. He had not the slightest clue how to refer to his trysts with Emerald. The term 'lover' came to him often, and indeed seemed the most applicable, strange as it was to think of the youth as his lover; to Draco, the term implied something personal, something deeper than his other relations had been. Draco wasn't sure what he thought of that.

A month after Emerald had first come to his room, Draco had been so pleased by the young man that he had given him permission to wander the grounds, so long as he was accompanied by the servant Draco had appointed to him, Gwynn he thought her name was, and also Justin Finch-Fletchely. Justin was a eunuch from the House of Salazar, trained in the art of espionage and well-versed in combat, and Draco had thus appointed the man to keep track of his dark-headed prize at all times. Not that Draco did not trust Emerald, but he was well aware that no place, not even the palace, was ever completely safe.

"My lord," a soft voice broke his reverie, and Draco turned from where he had been staring blankly through the glass and greeted Emerald with a welcoming quirk to his lips.

"It is a strange thing," Draco said, almost to himself, as he looked into the deep green eyes that had inspired the young-man's name. Emerald frowned slightly but did not voice his question, simply allowed Draco to pull him into a very deep kiss, and then lead him away from the so called Serpent Temple, and back toward the palace.

……………………………………………

Harry sat, shaded by the veil that had been draped to make a sheer barrier against the sunlight. Gwynn was kneeling just behind him and Cho was settled beside him. It was warm and bright and Harry was certain he had never felt more relaxed in his entire life. Granted, he was not alone. There were other tents like his surrounding the large court situated in the centre of the complex that was the harem. Still, with the sun shining so brightly and the smell of jasmine permeating the air he could forget about the harsh, jealous glances and the cold sneers and the whispers that were directed toward him.

At the centre of the court the woman, elegantly clad in deep purple and vibrant gold, sang a long slow song, almost a chant, in a language that Harry did not understand. She sang with no accompaniment, and besides her elegant attire, she had no props. Still, Harry was hypnotized. With a sigh, he let his eyes drift closed. It seemed like such a sad song to him, like a lament for a lost love.

It was odd to be surrounded by such luxury, but perhaps even stranger to Harry was how he was becoming so accustomed to it. Much to the chagrin of the other occupants of the harem, male and female alike, and to the delight of both Cho and Gwynn who had spent a good deal of time brainstorming new scenarios for Harry to use when he met with the prince at night, Harry had managed to fulfil the impossible: three months and fourteen days of being the prince's main and only interest. At night, Harry would walk the terrace bridge to Draco's rooms and knock quietly on the door and every time, once Harry stepped inside the now familiar bedroom, the prince would greet him and they would have sex, sometimes more than once, before falling asleep. Every morning, Draco would ask Harry to return again in the evening, and Harry always did.

On nights when Draco was busy, he wouldd have Snape pass along his explanation to Harry, and the prince always sent the stoic man with an orchid blossom for Harry on those nights, and though at first Snape had sneered as he passed over the flower, lately, he had taken to simply handing the blossom over into Harry's waiting hands. Harry would always close his eyes and breathe the scent of the orchid blossom deeply, which was his favorite flower, and then thank Snape and close his door.

On other nights Draco was simply tired. The first time Harry had entered and Draco had told him he merely wished to sleep Harry had returned to his rooms, unsure of what exactly he felt about that. The second time, though, Draco had offered Harry a place beside him, and now Harry spent every night, save those when Draco was engaged in royal business, in Draco's bed, in Draco's arms, whether they were making love or not.

Regardless of the whispered comments and scowls that many of the other occupants of the harem had to offer him, Harry had grown accustomed to what was quickly becoming another part of his daily regimen; like his long swims in the morning, and his walks through the garden with Cho after lunch, going to Draco's rooms had ceased to become a nerve-racking experience. Though he suspected he would never be capable of taking it all for granted as many other seemed to, Harry had grown accustomed to the the luxury of his surroundings in much the same way he had adjusted to his new schedule.

The soft whisper of sand-shod feet approaching recalled him from his thoughts, and Harry opened his eyes and watched with a curious gaze as a very tall and strongly built man approached him. Much to Harry's surprise the man, who on closer inspection could not have been much older than Harry himself, knelt down on the edge of the silks that were cast about the floor beneath Harry's awning. When the stranger neither moved nor spoke Harry, still frowning, leaned forward slightly. "Yes?" he asked, not wanting to speak too loudly lest he disrupt the performance.

"I have seen you about, here," the man said.

"This is my home." Harry spoke the half-lie with practiced confidence, he did not at all view the harem as his home but he was aware that, as the prince's catamite, he should be considering it to be so, he should have already forgotten all about Wystenia and his real home.

The man raised his eyes and looked at Harry, brown eyes piercing and keen in a way that made Harry think that whoever the stranger was, he knew exactly what Harry truly thought of the harem. "I have watched you," the man said. A frisson of anxiety and exhileration burned through Harry at the comment. The only other person who had spoken thusly to him had been the prince. "You move well," the man continued.

Harry felt suddenly disconcerted, surrounded by fine silks, clad in rich clothes and jewels, with a man kneeling at his feet as if he were a king or a god. Embarassed by the attention and half-pleased by it as well, Harry glanced around and then back at the man. "Why are you kneeling?"

"It is customary," the man said. "You are Emerald, are you not?" Harry nodded hesitantly. "The prince's favourite. To kneel to you here is to show respect, both to you and the prince, since together you are as one." Harry didn't feel like he was one with the prince, and no one, not even Cho or Gwynn had knelt at his feet as the stranger did. Beside him Cho shifted and Harry looked at her, noted how she seemed to be biting her tongue, eyes darting about with nervous exitement. He followed her rabbiting gaze out and noticed that the other catamites and concubines who had come to see the performance were watching him closely, the singer forgotten even as her voice began to crescendo.

If her reaction was anything to go by, then Harry was confident that Cho could explain exactly what the encounter meant, since the man's reponse had been entirely inadequate. "What's your name?" Harry asked.

"My name is Dean Thomas."

Harry glanced up to see that the performer had finished her song and was bowing, he clapped appreciatively and, taking a moment to notice that some of the others were leaving in favour of taking shelter inside, attempted to order his thoughts before he turned back to the strange man. "Dean," Harry repeated to himself. "I haven't seen you about," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"I imagine you haven't, I spend little time with the others." By 'others', Harry assumed the man meant the other occupants of the harem. "The prince rarely requests my attentions, but he has made me a part of his dancers." Well, Harry thought, that explains why he was watching the way I move. "You dance?" Dean asked.

"No," Harry replied honestly. He had never been taught to dance, and though he enjoyed music and movement, he had never attempted to choreograph one with the other.

"Would you like to?" Harry found that it was suddenly difficult to breathe. The man was looking at him with darkly intense eyes. When he found his voice had failed him, Harry nodded, swallowing hard, trying to tamp down on the wild thing that was trying to claw out of him, urging him to go against the single most important rule of the harem. The urge only increased when Dean smiled warmly at him and then, rising to his feet but bending low, kissed Harry once on the cheek.

……………………………………………

"It wasn't just kneeling, Emerald," Cho exclaimed as they returned to Harry's rooms. "He was pledging his allegiance to you."

"His allegiance?"

"And you accepted!"

"I did?" Harry blinked, surprised. "Wait, wait. I don't understand. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Cho said.

"Pledging allegiance isn't uncommon," Gwynn offerred. "Within the harem, as you're well aware, there is a struggle to become the consort. Pansy's started up the old traditions, it's sort of an underhanded battle within the harem to gain the prince's attentions."

"It's not working out very well for her," Cho said with a smirk. Harry wondered why he had never noticed anything before. Well, there had been an increased amount of dark looks cast his way but other than that, Harry was hardly aware of any sort of war.

"Dean basically said that he would stand by you and help you, come whatever," Gwynn said.

"That's ridiculous. He doesn't know me!"

"Well, he has been watching you," Cho said with a grin. "And you move so well," she teased, Cho's laughter blending with Gwynn's. Harry rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't mean what you're thinking, Emerald," Gwynn said with a fond smile. "He's not courting you. He can't. You're both catamites and therefore both the prince's property and strictly hands-off to everyone, including other catamites and concubines." Harry got the impression that she was reminding him and he jerked his chin up in defence of himself. He couldn't help the feelings that had flooded him. He had forgotten what it was like to have some kind of control of himself and his life, and having Dean there at his feet, interested, for whatever reason had compelled him to come to Harry's tent – well, Harry assumed that it had just gone to his head. It reminded him of freedom for a moment.

"He's likely doing it to piss Pansy off. Everyone knows that the Oraios all feel very strongly about her. And they're not warm and fuzzy feelings, either," Cho said.

"The what?" Harry asked, feeling very lost.

"The Oraios, they are the prince's dancers," Gwynn said. "They're concubines and catamites alike, but they're considered above the other occupants of the harem. They're a close-knit group, and the prince really does favour them, even if they never visit his rooms anymore, they attend all his parties, and after they dance, they are allowed to mingle."

"How many people in this harem can say that?" Cho asked. Not many, Harry thought to himself.

"They still have to follow the same rules as any other occupant of the harem, but –"

"They have more freedom," Harry surmised.

"Precisely," Cho said. "And if Dean is pledging allegiance to you, then I think it's fair to say that he's contemplating inviting you to join the group."

"To dance?" Harry asked. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it would be nice to have a bit of freedom, and it would also be another way to keep Draco's attentions firmly focussed on him. But then, Harry was still timid and dancing for an audience when he didn't know how to dance at all was a daunting prospect.

"This is perfect." Cho clapped her hands together twice and then jostled him in the side with her elbow.

"I don't see how," Harry moaned, rubbing his side and generally feeling far too overwhelmed by the social politics.

"If you become a part of the Oraios then that is just one more opportunity for you to seduce the prince. You've got him wrapped around you little finger already, Love," Cho said with a grin.

"Don't talk about it like that," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with this statement, though he did not know why. It made what he had accomplished seem cheap, like he was just like Pansy. The difficulty was that, he was exactly like Pansy, they did, after all, have the same goal in mind. "You'll jinx it," Harry explained when Cho flashed that curious look that showed she was trying to puzzle him out. As much as Harry had become close to Cho and Gwynn, and even the prince and Severus, he did not want any of them to ever completely figure him out. He couldn't allow for his life in the harem and the palace to become permanent, he could not allow for it to become home.

……………………………………………

Harry sighed and settled more comfortably in the prince's arms. He smiled faintly as he felt fingers brushing the hair from his eyes, and soft lips pressed against his temple. "I received an intriguing request today," Draco murmured in that hushed voice he always used after they had partaken in a bout of particularly exuberant sex.

"Hm?" Harry asked, not opening his eyes, simply enjoying the feel of lying naked and sated, wrapped in cool, soft sheets and strong arms, with fingers brushing through his hair. In these moments, he could almost convince himself that this was a real relationship, formed and maintained by love and romance.

"I'm not sure if you know of the Oraios, they are my dancers." Harry 'hmed' again in acknowledgement, though he was not quite listening to the prince. "They requested my permission for you to join them." Harry's eyes blinked open in surprise. Damn, Dean Thomas moved fast! It had been just that afternoon that the dark-skinned man had been kneeling before him, and already Harry was being manoeuvred into the group. "I have to admit that the idea is quite an intriguing one for me. What is your opinion, Emerald?"

Harry was silent a moment, wondering what he should answer. Tonight, he had played the innocent virgin, something which had taken Draco by surprise, which was the point. If the reactions Harry had garnered from the blond over the course of their boisterous fucking were anything to go by, then Draco seemed to appreciate 'Emerald The Virgin' as much, if not more than he enjoyed 'Emerald The Tempter'. He wondered if he should answer this question within role, or if he should answer as himself. Harry did not always play a part with the prince, but he did enjoy keeping the blond on his toes, always wondering what might happen next.

Decision made, Harry forced himself to move, grabbing the prince's wrists and rolling on top of him, straddling the blonde's waist. He kissed the long, slender neck, and licked a pathway from collarbone to earlobe before finally whispering, "If it would make you happy." From Draco's long moan, Harry guessed that he had used the right tactic.

"It would," the prince answered, as Harry continued to kiss and nip his way down the body beneath him.

"You wish for me to dance for you?" Harry dipped his tongue into the prince's navel, in and out in a slow pantomime of what he hoped they were building to.

"Uhn, yes!" the prince confirmed. Harry thought that, if only he could dance, he would do so now, a private performance for the prince, tempting him with future possibilities, but Harry had neither the skills nor the confidence to do such a thing, and so he settled for pleasuring his master – which was, after all, something that he did have some skill and confidence with.

……………………………………………

The beat was tapped out softly as a background to the steady rhythm of the mandolin, by a sandal shod foot. Harry closed his eyes and focused not on the steps, not on the technicalities, but on the feeling of the music, which was free and alive and brilliant.

He kept his eyes closed, vaguely aware of the sound of the wind in the trees and the very faint sounds of distant laughter – the children of the harem at play. He could feel the sunlight on his skin, a soft sensation that compounded the ethereal sense of the moment. Harry imagined that the rays of light were a physical touch, caressing him as he moved. The silks brushed against his skin as he danced and he could feel Cho, weaving close to him then shifting away, taking the silk with her.

The silk scarves she had wrapped round her wrists fluttered across his skin once more as she brushed passed him. He thought, perhaps, that this might be even more intimate than the actual physical act of sex, but then, he reasoned, that was probably just because of the strange way he had been introduced to sex.

"Emerald! Are you even focussing?" Cho demanded, and Harry's steps faltered and he stopped dancing and looked at her sheepishly. "Agh! Again!" she demanded and motioned for the music to recommence. "How are you ever going to progress to mastering moves and choreography when you can't even concentrate on simply moving to a beat?"

Harry flushed and looked down at his feet sheepishly. Dean had begun teaching Harry how to dance. Thus far, they had worked simply the two of them, with Cho there to help him feel more comfortable. Dean had said that the rest of the group were practicing for one of the prince's parties, but afterwards Harry would be invited to join each of their practices and would be expected to perform.

"Do not be so rough," Dean chided, in those soft tones that Harry had decided were incredibly erotic. "You are doing quite well, Emerald." Dean stepped close to Harry and then, much to Harry's shock, Dean moved behind him, pressing their bodies close. He took Harry's right arm and draped it so that it rested on the back of Dean's neck. "You must work on giving yourself over to the music," Dean said, and at that point Harry would have done whatever the man had asked of him, even if it was to dance naked in the middle of a blazing fire, which is what it felt like he was doing anyway.

Harry felt his body go loose in Dean's arms as the man began to dance. It wasn't overtly sexual though it was intense, and to Harry it was the most sensuous dance he had ever done, even though his experience with dancing was meagre.

Again, that strange sense that he felt more intimate with Dean dancing so close to him, and moving with him so gently, than he felt with Draco when the prince was sheathed within Harry's own body came to him. The revelation was bizarre and Harry, afraid of what it might mean, locked the knowledge away and simply concentrated on movement. Reminding himself that he had agreed to join the Oraios in order to maintain Draco's interest, and for no other reason.

……………………………………………

Harry stood holding open the door, and blinked in surprise. Another awkward moment of silence passed before he regained himself, stepping aside and motioning the woman in.

"Thank-you," she said, though she did not sound sincere. "Some tea," she added when she saw Gwynn, and Harry shared a brief glance with his friend before she turned back around to prepare some tea.

"I have to admit some surprise at seeing you. What brings you here?" Harry asked after the regal looking blond-haired woman simply eyed him sceptically. Harry felt oddly relieved that he had worked up the courage to ask Severus to have his room redecorated, and even more indebted to the man who had so promptly agreed. This confrontation, which had been inevitable ever since Harry had taken these very rooms from this very woman, would have been so much more difficult if the room had seemed temporary, easier for her to make her point and intimidate. As it was, Harry felt surprisingly confident.

"Let's be honest, you and I," she said, her voice a pretty saccharine whinge. "We both know how Draco is." She used the prince's name as if they were the greatest of friends. Harry wondered if that were at all accurate, because it did not seem at all likely. "You are a nice bit of fun for him," she continued. "But we both know that in the end, it will be me that he chooses."

Harry paused in accepting the tea that Gwynn brought and eyed the woman critically. After a sip of the hot brew he took a breath and decided that if she were going to be blunt, he might deal with her on her own level. "I appreciate your candor, Miss Parkinson, but I have no idea what you're talking about." Well, perhaps he did not have to be so direct. He despised arrogant people, after all, and Pansy Parkinson was as arrogant as anyone Harry had thus far had the misfortune of encountering.

"Oh, I think you do," Pansy said with a false smile. "Draco's needs are quite clear to everyone. Except you, it seems."

Harry gestured lazily. "Enlighten me then, I pray you."

She sneered at him before she sipped her tea, smoothed her dress and began, "Draco needs a woman who is familiar with the court. I am that. He needs someone who can offer him children to carry-on the family line; I can provide that. Whatever his dallyings with you are, they are certainly not permanent."

Harry managed to keep a straight face. "I am at a loss, Miss Parkinson, as to what you can be asking of me?"

She sneered and leaned forward. "Watch yourself, little Emerald," she spat. "I have let you alone 'till now. You have no idea what you are dealing with."

"You have made your position quite clear," Harry said off-handedly. He suddenly liked his nickname quite a lot as it made him sound precious, and he knew that this made Pansy very angry. "But I am still at a loss as to how I can put your mind at rest. If it is so clear that I am not what the prince requires, I do not see why you seek to threaten me. If it is so obvious that I am unsuited, I do not see how you can have anything to fear?"

Pansy sat forward. "Don't play the innocent with me. We both know what we're after, but I can assure you, I will be the one to succeed. I will be the High Consort. Don't test me on this, little Emerald. You are in over your head. That crown will be mine."

"I think," Harry said, voice still even, and he even managed a small cheery smile. "That the selection of a High Consort falls to the prince to decide, don't you?" He blinked innocently at her over the edge of his tea cup before he took a sip.

A look of calm slid over Pansy's face and she sat back, eyeing him darkly but expressionlessly. "I would have rewarded you, you know," she said. "If you had backed-down and helped me. I would have rewarded you greatly when I am Consort. But now, my dear little Emerald," she crooned, and Harry felt like snarling. "Now we are at war."

"I have no issue with you."

"Oh, but I do have issue with you," she said, her voice a whispered purr. "Now we play." She did not say anything further, simply set her cup back in its saucer, rose from her chair and left the room. She didn't even slam the door on her way out, and Harry thought it was more threatening than her anger had ever been.

……………………………………………

The night air still held the memory of the day's heat, and Harry twisted beneath the sheets before kicking them off completely. Light from the full moon cast shadows and shimmers throughout the room and he lay still, one arm thrown above his head as he gazed at the ceiling, then turned his gaze to the orchid bloom that sprung-up from the little blue vase, a silvery silent reminder of what he was, once again, missing.

Harry slid out of bed and padded across the room, stopping first by the bloom, and then continuing passed to gaze out the window. A foreign dignitary was traveling to the city in the hopes of working out a peace treaty with the Empire. Though his visit was still some time away, King Lucius was completely caught-up in the preparations, and had enlisted his son's aid. In part, Harry thought that Lucius was likely attempting to teach his disinterested heir about the presentation and pageantry that went into running the Empire, but whereas the king loved the elaborate rituals and exotic displays of wealth and power that aided in keeping the Empire's alliances strong, Draco much preferred the cold practicalities. In Harry's opinion, a good ruler should find a balance between the two, yet father and son disputed their distinct perspectives, bickering constantly and rarely able to arrive at a compromise between the two. Much to the Empire's detriment, Harry thought.

Still, it wasn't his place to lecture either man on how to rule. With a sigh, Harry turned from the windows and paced the width of his room, restless. His aimless pacing soon took-on purpose, and though he was unsure of the reason, he found himself creeping out of his rooms, relieved when he did not awake Gwynn, until he was out in the gardens, under the full glint of the moon.

All the occupants of the harem were fast asleep, and though there were guards patrolling the balliums, the lush growth of trees offered a sense of solitude. The guards ceased to matter. The rules that had been impressed upon him dropped away. Caught-up in the moon's magic, Harry stopped caring about the tenuous position he held within the court and the harem, about his purpose there, none of it mattered. He cast off the blood silk of his night shirt until he stood only in the loose pants that he slept in, and simply felt the the warm night air and the cool caress of moonlight on his exposed skin.

And it was easy to fall into rhythm, arms upraised above his head. Easy to surrender his body to the night; he danced a strange, worshipful dance in honour of the darkness and the stars and that bright moon, and he didn't think. Not about the harem, or Pansy's threats, or the prince's passion or the heat from Dean's body that he could feel through their clothes when they danced, more intimate than sex. He didn't think of home, or his friends who were tucked away in prison, or Albus who was likely locked away in his own house. He didn't think about what he had been forced to become or of the confused tangle of emotions that were constantly threatening to pull him apart.

Harry simply danced, and that in its own way, was another form of rebellion.

……………………………………………

Severus paced the stone walkway that encircled the harem, a night walk that had become a tradition. He varied the hour of his walk so as not to be predictable, and he wasn't the only one responsible for guarding the harem, but it was an aspect of his responsibilities and he took it seriously.

Severus knew the habits of every one of the harem's occupant, which was why he was surprised to see a pale form in the garden at such a late hour. Scantily clad as the form was, Severus was prepared to bear down on the rogue catamite and deliver the proper form of punishment for one that broke the rules of the harem, and then promptly deliver the boy over to the king for the rest of his sentencing. There was never any leniency for a concubine or catamite who broke one of the most important laws of the harem to engage in intimacy with someone other than the king or prince.

It took a moment for him to realize that, though the catamite was clad only in a pair of sheer silk pants, he was alone in the garden, and the erotic twining of his body in the night was an innocent celebration in homage of the moon that hung, full and bright, in the sky. Severus was captivated. Even more so when he realized the catamite was Emerald, the enigmatic young man who still held the prince's interest, even after all these months.

Severus had been loathe to admit it, but the boy, so unlike the harem's other occupants, had grown on him steadily. Not preening, nor arrogant nor tiresome, and though he often accompanied Severus on his patrols through the grounds, he had never once comported himself in such a way that would have inclined Severus to chase him off. Severus supposed that Emerald was anxious for intelligent conversation, which was something the Harem severely lacked, and despite the fact that Emerald had seemingly made friends with several of the other occupants one often needed time away from such close friends, not to mention variety of company and opinion.

Severus had approved of the prince's idea to permit Emerald more extensive access to the grounds, acting as a reference for Emerald's good behaviour when not under the prince's eye to further sway the young blonde's ideas. He also fully supported the idea of further protection on the young man. Severus was having quite the time keeping petty quarrels underhand as it was, ensuring Emerald's safety had become a bigger problem than anyone had initially anticipated. Though the efforts to assassinate the young man were not well planned and often poorly executed, the intent was still present. The age-old, tedious squabbling quest to ascend to the position of High Consort was eternally vexing to Severus, especially as, in the end, he knew that Draco would select whomever he damned well pleased, wether they were from the harem or from beyond it, irregardless even of his own mother's machinations.

Curious and alarmingly aroused, Severus strode quietly down the balcony to a better vantage point, allowing his mind to clear of the politics and simply watching Emerald as he moved. For all the time that Severus had spent at the palace as a young general and then, following his injury, as Keeper of the Harem, his eye had never once strayed to something that could, by law, never be his. Occupants of the harem were the property of the royal family, and as such, were not able to share themselves with anyone else without express permission, not even with each other. Still, there was something about Emerald, something innocent and yet cunning; he was beautiful and young and as enigmatic as any person could possibly be, and for the first time in all his long years, Severus watched a young catamite enjoy the night, standing in the shadow of a thick pillar, aroused and wanting for something that could never be.

……………………………………………

Harry was in the bath using the large sea-sponge Gwynn had given him, and the jasmine-scented soap he favoured as Gwynn bustled about getting the towels ready for him. It was his favorite part of his day, where he could laze about in the water with the sweet smell of the flowers about him, talking with Gwynn and laughing, pretending that everything about his new life was normal.

"You're going to turn into sponge yourself if you don't get out of there!" Gwynn said, and Harry rolled his eyes and stood as she stepped forward, the large, soft towel stretching out as she moved to wrap it around him only to stop and gape at something behind him. Harry flashed a puzzled look at the girl, then turned to see what had called a halt to her movement, only to be confronted with the sight of Draco standing in the arched entrance to the bath.

"Er," Harry said. He recognized the look in the prince's eye, and he knew the slow predatory stalk very well, he noted, as the Prince walked towards him. Harry had a moment to wonder why on earth Draco had come to the Harem (something that had, he'd been told, never happened), before the prince had grabbed hold of his shoulders and planted a sound and thorough kiss on his lips.

Harry's eyes dropped abruptly closed and his body went slack, allowing the prince to push him until he was soundly pressed against the wall. He hoped that Gwynn had the sense to run and hopefully set-up a watch outside the bath so no one came in, but the thought was distant, drowned-out by the heat of the other man's body against his. He didn't care, Draco's fingers were in his damp hair, gripping him tightly, and he was being devoured by Draco's hungry mouth, the feel of the prince's erection pressing firmly against his stomach and Harry groaned in appreciation, his own fingers working at the prince's robes. "We shouldn't do this here," Harry said, more a vague thought that flitted through his head that somehow found voice as he worked diligently at disrobing the blond.

"I'm the prince, I can fuck you wherever I please," Draco murmured, nipping at Harry's ear and then licking. Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His damn ears were incredibly sensitive.

It was a good thing that the bathhouse had the massage table set-up because that meant Draco was easily presented with several options for lubricant, not the prince spent much time on preparation before he pressed into Harry's body. Harry didn't mind, his back was pressed against the cool marble wall of the bathhouse, arms wrapped securely around the prince's neck and his legs gripping around Draco's waist, his body burning with pleasure-pain of the breach and he thought that maybe the position should have felt awkward or uncomfortable, but it was none of those things.

It was intense, and Harry's neck was bent back, mouth open and gasping as Draco continued to pound that spot inside him that drove him mad, as the blonde's mouth nipped and suckled along the underside of his neck and on that erogenous zone behind his ear, unless that furious tongue was doing battle with Harry's own tongue.

The bathhouse was filled with grunts and moans and hiccupping breaths as they forgot and then relearned the art of breathing. Finally, when release crashed onto them, Harry found himself going wonderfully limp and 'hmmed' in sated contentment as the prince, still holding him tightly, placed a chaste kiss at the juncture between his neck and shoulders.

Draco kept him propped against the wall, his head bowed, forehead rested on his sternum as their breathing calmed. Finally, Harry managed to swallow, drop his head to rest by Draco's shoulder and ask, "So, what brings you out into the harem today?"

He could feel the prince's grin since the prince's lips were resting against his sweat-slick skin. "I came down to see if you wanted to go to the stables and go riding?" Draco said. "But I was distracted."

"Clearly," Harry intoned in a purr. "Well, I'm for a good ride," he said with a devilish smirk and the prince laughed. They collected their clothes and, amidst a series of unnecessarily prolonged touches and a few kisses and licks, they helped each other dress, completely unaware that they were being closely observed by Pansy Parkinson who stood by the entrance, masked by the tall vegetation that had helped shield them from the keen eyes of the rest of the harem.

\--------------------------  
End Chapter Three:


	4. Primal

Draco dropped the papers he had been carrying onto his desk, closing his eyes and letting out a long, frustrated breath, promising himself that he was putting aside the entire meeting he had just come from and would not dwell on it for the rest of the night.

It wasn't that he entirely disagreed with his father. Ceremonies such as Tribute were essential for maintaining the empire; everyone needed to be aware that Agathe was the heart of a mighty Empire that commanded strong and entirely loyal allies. The difficulty was that, at the moment, the barbarian invaders were causing unrest along the borders and decreasing taxes and tribute paid by the disrupted lands was only a temporary solution. Draco wanted to take the army and confront the barbarians directly, but Lucius had considered the action too rash. Whether it was because the loss they were taking in decreased payments from those lands did not yet outweigh the risk of battle, or whether it was because Lucius was more concerned with expanding to the south and to the east, and consequently making several other kingdoms nervous as he did so, Draco could not tell. It wasn't that any one decision his father had made was wrong, but Draco believed that it was all too much and too soon and they were liable to gain more trouble than prestige by it. He had, however, been overruled.

“Master.” The soft purr startled Draco from his thoughts and he turned, his eyes falling on the figure sprawled across his bed. How could he have possibly failed to notice Emerald as he had entered his room?

Draco raked his eyes slowly over the lazing visage that greeted him. Emerald was reclining at the foot of Draco's four-post bed, his body propped on his elbows. One slender foot was stretched forward, resting gently at the edge of the mattress and Draco could see a a thick twist of silken rope trailing from the left bed-post, across the sheets and twining around Emerald's ankle. His legs were bare, a short wrap of fabric that barely reached mid-thigh stretched across his waist, preserving his false modesty and leaving the rest of him bare and golden in soft light of the room.

Draco licked his lips, a faint trace of spice and myrrh on the air that must have its source in the oil that made Emerald's body glow; his eyes skimmed passed a taut stomach and up to two hennaed nipples. The position of his body emphasized the strength in his arms and from where he stood Draco could see that the gold band that rested tightly across Emerald's throat was matched by two gold bands, one each that wrapped about his arms. His surprise must have read on his face because Emerald's hennaed lips quirked partially and Draco's eyes pulled away from the pouting cupid's bow curve of his lips to finally meet green eyes that watched him from beneath a dark kohled, half-lidded gaze. Draco felt paralyzed with wanting.

“Master?” Emerald purred again, a mellow whisper just loud enough to compel Draco into action, until he found his legs bumping against the edge of the bed at Emerald's feet, unable to recall exactly when he had moved, only that he was there, bending over the sensuous figure.

With one knee braced on the edge of the bed and both hands gripping Emerald's hips, Draco pulled the smaller figure down the bed, enough that when he leaned further forward he could pressed a gentle, close-mouthed kiss into Emerald's mouth, gentle in a way that contrasted with his earlier action. Hands; cool, long-fingered and slender hands wrapped around the back of his neck before tangling into his hair, and then Emerald's mouth opened to him, wet and wanting and Draco could no longer pull away, could no longer slow himself.

He was certain Emerald had a game in mind; he always did. Whatever it had been, it no longer mattered. Somehow, once again, Emerald had appeared in his chambers and offered precisely what Draco needed. It wasn not in him to be bated further, all that remained was open, blistering need to take and give only as he saw fit.

The gold around Emerald's wrists was warm and smooth where it brushed along Draco's shoulder blades and he grabbed at those arms, brought them down to stretch above Emerald's one, sparing one of his hands to hold them there as the other smoothed a path down the golden torso beneath him, settling his weight until the dark haired boy was pinned beneath him. Draco pulled his mouth away, a twist of dark satisfaction rising in him as Emerald moved to follow him before lying still, watching and waiting as Draco traced his tongue lightly down Emerald's neck and over the gold collar before stopping at the juncture of Emerald's neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to elicit a half-pained moan as Emerald's body arched against him.

Draco relinquished the hold he had of Emerald's arm and transferred his grip to Emerald's unbound leg, gripping his thigh and pulling him further down, holding his leg to the side as he marked Emerald's neck and then moved on to turn his nipples red beneath the henna. With his other hand he pressed his thumb into Emerald, pleased to discover the youth had spared some of the oil that coated his skin for preparation.

Standing between Emerald’s spread legs, hands running over the smooth expanse of flesh, mouth devouring the body beneath him, drunk on moans and whispers of ‘Master’ and ‘more’, Draco could not bring himself to think. He didn't care to. Shifting his grip, Draco flipped Emerald over, pausing only to allow the dark hair boy to tuck his legs onto the bed, his arms still obediently stretching above his head where Draco had set them.

Draco didn't bother with the knot that fastened the short wrap of fabric Emerald wore. Running his hands up the back of Emerald's thighs he slowly pushed the wrap up as he licked firmly from the top of Emerald’s neck down, slowly down between the shifting shoulders blades, bumping over each vertebrae until he reached the small of Emerald’s back – and then further, tongue dipping into the crevice of that firm arse.

Fed on Emerald’s moans and cries and his ragged breaths, Draco skirted his tongue teasingly over his lover’s entrance before breaching it firmly, his hands gripping the bucking hips to still Emerald’s movement and he tugged once, pulling the writhing youth closer to him until Emerald was braced near the very edge of the bed.

Draco worked his lover’s body just enough until Emerald could only keen, half-mad with need for something he could no longer request. It wasn’t gentle. Draco pushed into Emerald in one slow thrust, the penetration and did not pause to allow Emerald time to adjust. Emerald his legs wider, his body clenching around Draco’s cock with enthusiasm as Draco pulled out and then pushed in again.

With one knee still braced on the bed, and one hand gripping Emerald's hip, pulling him back as Draco thrust forward, Draco felt his entire world contracting until there was nothing beyond the two of them. Emerald's broken cry of release sounded as if it were being ripped from the very core of him, his entire body tightening sharply around Draco and the blond gasped, his forehead dropping against Emerald's sweat-slick back. He was certain he could not see anything, could not think anything, he simply was; he existed in a disjointed place, caught-up in the extraordinary youth he was fucking, his lover, who was all around him, who was clawing at the sheets that covered the bed he was bound to, and was crying out for him.

When Draco found release it was like being struck by lightening. Every muscle in his body tensed until he found his back arching wildly as he pushed in as deep as he could possibly be, trying desperately to merge with the amazing creature beneath him, hips jerking as his release was milked from him, as Emerald worked his muscles, encouraging him to let go.

Then everything melted away and left Draco exhausted, slumped on top of his lover, their bodies sticking where they touched. The sounds of their ragged breathing filled the room. At any other time, with any other person, Draco might have spared a thought for the basin of water on the nightstand and the clean cloth. Instead, Draco spared a glance at his lover, who was fast sleep with a pleased quirk to his bruised lips, and managing to half-heartedly shift himself further onto the bed, Draco settled in to sleep.

……………………….

When Harry awoke the next morning it was with a great deal of reluctance. Still, he managed to squint his eyes open just the same and was surprised to notice that at some point while he had been thoroughly passed-out, his lover had unbound him from the bed and actually tucked him properly beneath the blankets, settling him on the pillows.

Sighing with contentment Harry shifted and became aware of the possessive arm that was around his waist and the body that was pressed against his back, as well as the hand that was toying with his hair. Harry had to admit that he absolutely loved waking up like this. “’Time’s’it?” he asked, his voice still rough as a result of his earlier cries, and slurred because he was still tired and lazy with afterglow.

“Doesn’t matter,” replied the prince, and Harry smiled as Draco’s arm shifted and his fingers began to stroke Harry’s hipbone. “Master?” Draco teased after a moment of silence drifted passed them. Harry grinned, finding the energy to shift around so that he could lie facing Draco.

Biting his lip and adopting a guileless expression, Harry asked,“You didn’t like it?” Draco always scoffed at his wide-eyed and pleading expression but Harry knew that despite the prince’s protests, he would never deny Harry anything if he flashed a doe-eyed pout at him.

Sure enough, Draco leaned forward and devoured Harry’s mouth, kissing him deeply before pulling back and, while brushing a strand of black hair from Harry’s eyes. “You know it was amazing.”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Draco's dove-grey eyes shone with amusement as his brow quirked slightly. “Of what?”

“That you appreciate me,” Harry said.

He would have carried on the banter a bit more but Draco chose that moment to lunge forward, wrapping his arms completely around Harry and drawing him tight, pressing his body against Harry’s back and kissing down his exposed neck. “Of course I appreciate you. And just to prove that it’s true, I’m taking you with me.”

“Where?” Harry half-heartedly swatted at Draco's arms that held him tightly before surrendering and settling to rest atop the pale arms pressed against his abdomen.

“Wherever I go. First stop is the stables. I plan to ride all morning.” Draco always loved the days he had free from the court, and he usually chose to spend those days with Emerald in some form or another.

“Lovely,” Harry said with a huff. “That should be nice and relaxing for my poor abused bottom.” His put-upon pout earned him only a hearty laugh.

“I’ll make it better,” Draco promised; already fishing in the night table drawer for the salve he kept. It was Gwynn’s creation, which she had gifted Harry with not long after his arrival at the harem. The only reason Draco had discovered the existence of the salve was as a result of a luncheon with a recently named noble that Harry had been invited to. After stealing surprised and somewhat impressed glances at Harry's perfectly poised conduct throughout the meal (despite the hardness of the chairs in the smaller Dining Hall), Draco's mouth had finally run-away with him. Harry was only thankful the inquisitive prince had managed to contain himself until they had been a fair ways away from both the Hall and the guests alike. Still, Draco, apparently having grown accustomed to the small flinches that his catamites usually made for some time following nights like the one they had shared, was keen to know how Harry had managed such implacable decorum. What followed was a tortuous conversation, slowed by intense blushing on Harry’s part, and stuttering, and apologies which Draco felt he should make since he really hadn’t intended to ask such a personal question, especially when Harry seemed so shy about it. Following the explanation, however, Draco had gone to Gwynn and made sure he always had a pot of the ointment in his chambers for Harry’s use, so Harry had managed to overlook the horrible embarrassment he had felt about the entire exchange.

Draco worked slowly and gently, taking care in order to make-up for his roughness the night before. Harry was so relaxed that he dozed lightly until, finally, he was prodded up and into his clothes. It took no convincing whatever to enjoy the breakfast that the servants brought-in while they were washing-up, and Harry was almost reluctant to leave the small feast to head for the stables, despite feeling entirely sated.

……………………..

Horses were not at all foreign to Harry. Growing-up in Brucandis his good friend Hagrid, who lived on the neighbouring farm, had allowed Harry to ride atop the great plough horse had had when he was just a little boy. Later, Hermione's parents had purchased two horses, and Harry had learned to ride, though there was not always enough free-time for him to do so with any regularity.

Harry had always loved riding, and he had a deep affinity to horses, something for which he had often been teased for, though it was something that Harry bore good-naturedly.

Still, Hagrid’s old plough horse and the Granger’s two work horses were nothing like the horse Harry was confronted with as he entered the stables. Five men, each about twice the size of Harry both in height and girth, were fighting to keep hold of the animal's lead and sooth it, and despite all their strength and their managing, the horse would not calm.

“What is that?” Draco asked, stopping at the door far enough away to be safe. He put an arm out to halt Harry’s progress.

“New acquisition, highness,” one of the men answered, more than a little breathless. “A right bugger it is,” he went on. Harry realized that three of the men were soldiers or else they wouldn’t have spoken to Draco so openly. In keeping with Malfoy tradition, the prince had trained as a soldier alongside the men. It was a sensible strategy to form solid bonds between a new ruler and the men who would lay-down their lives for him; it was important for a ruler to have the allegiance of his army.

“It was a gift from some king, so we can’t rightly kill it,” another man said. Draco rolled his eyes but his response was interrupted as the horse reared and bucked and knocked over two of the men, the others backing off before they could be trampled.

Unlike any other horse Harry had seen, this one seemed unsuited to the coddling confines of the royal stable; it had the taste of green fields and a nipping wind in its heart and was impatient to race again. Its coat was a strange orangey-red that gleamed and it had a white star on its head, and one white hoof. Its eyes, though, were purple, and they held Harry’s gaze, compelling him, despite his own common sense, to brush-off the prince's hold, and ignore the hesitant and uncertain cautions the soldiers were giving him. Hagrid's lessons about wild animals raced distantly through hi mind as he slowly came-up to the beast and met its gaze directly.

A moment passed with everyone's breath held, too afraid to move lest they break whatever spell was keeping that crazy animal from trampling the small catamite that stood before it. Draco held himself still, fists clenched at his side to remind him not to rush forward and drag the dark-haired youth away. Another moment passed, and then Harry raised a hand and gently patted the beast’s muzzle. The crazy horse accepted the gesture.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry said, still patting the horse. “A fine gift,” was his completed assessment. Finally, he turned back to Draco and grinned. “Are we going riding, then? Can I have the same mare I rode last time?”

The spell was broken and, with a cautious eye trained on the animal lest it decide to throw another fit, Draco forced a smile for Harry as he took his hand, leading him quickly out of range of any potential kicks. “Of course.”

Behind them a fierce whinny accompanied the sound of stomping hooves and the grunts and profanities of the horse's wranglers at it's renewed ill-spirits.

………………………

Friday morning dawned bright and sunny, and Harry found himself slipping out of the prince’s chambers and rushing along the balcony towards his rooms in order to wash and change.

Despite numerous practices with the Oraios, Harry had yet to be part of a performance. More than learning the routines and the different moves, Harry was slowly acquiring the confidence and allure that the Oraios possessed. In the first few practices when they had demonstrated to him some of the dances, Harry had found himself aroused, taken-in entirely by the spell they wove. It was something else entirely to dance among them. He felt strong there, felt amazing and beautiful and he could shut everything out, everything that had happened, everything that existed around him, until nothing existed but his own body and the music, his movements echoed by those who moved with him.

“Emerald!” Dean greeted with a grin as Harry entered the room where they practiced. As had become habit where the tall, dark-skinned man was concerned, Harry felt himself blushing, much to his chagrin. His relationship with Dean, if it could even be called that, never went beyond dancing together and Harry couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit disappointed about that.

Still, Dean had quickly become a good friend and, when Harry had been judged ready to join the group dances, also his dance partner when occasion called for one. “We’re running a bit late, you’re not going to be needed for lunch, are you?” Dean asked as he came up to stand by Harry, his eyes warm and sparkling.

“Can the prince bare a moment away from you’re addictive presence?” Seamus Finnegan teased; laughing as he smacked Harry’s behind and bolted away from possible retaliation. Seamus was always flirty regardless of whom he was talking to, or whether they were male or female. Seamus had been a gift at a Tribute celebration and, at the age of thirteen, had joined the harem. Too young to catch the king's fancy, and with a prince too young to have much concern for anything outside of developing skills as a warrior, Seamus had gone untouched. There were rumors that Seamus hadn’t adhered to the rules of the Harem and had happily lost his virginity without the help of either king or prince, but since no one, not even Severus Snape, had caught the man in the act, it couldn’t be proven.

“I can be here as long as I’m needed,” Harry said in a huff. Draco hadn’t actually specified a time for him to return, though it had been made clear that his return was expected. Harry figured that, either way, he could excuse his lateness with the fact that it was for practice, and if Draco was still frustrated well, Harry was feeling comfortable enough, and confidant enough, to ease the prince’s mood with a sneak preview.

A warm arm dropped around Harry's shoulders. “Then you’re all mine,” Dean said casually, though to Harry, his voice seemed to have gone softer. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Clearing his throat and bowing reluctantly away from the companionable arm Harry said, “I have to warm-up.”

“Get to it, then.” And the moment was broken.

………………………………

Emerald was not in Draco's rooms when he returned from his meeting with his father, which didn't improve his mood at all. Kicking off his shoes, Draco fumed to himself about the empire, about his father, the damned visiting king and how nothing seemed to work out as it should. He cast aside his clothes and then tumbled onto his bed, only to snarl when the light from the afternoon sun angled just right to strike the bed and glare in his eyes. Cursing, he rolled over onto his stomach and stuffed a pillow over his head for good measure.

He wasn't certain how long he spent lying there, though it could not have been long, before there was the faintest click of the balcony door closing. A moment later, as Draco chanced a peak from beneath the pillow, the glaring sun had been banished, blocked by the closed drapes. He caught a glimpse of a blue cloak as it sailed through the air to land in Draco's favorite reading chair but, unwilling to rouse himself from his position, that was all he could make out.

A moment later a weight settled above him and something cool dripped along his spine, causing him to jolt. “Just what do you think you are doing?” he asked, but of course Emerald ignored him, which Draco decided to forgive when two broad hands pushed the cool oil up his back and toward his shoulder blades and then back down, working his muscles loose with gentle ministrations.

Draco surrendered happily to the massage, complying with a disappointed reluctance when, sometime later, Emerald encouraged him onto his back. He blinked lazy eyes up at the figure that knelt above him, noting with idle interest that Emerald had tossed aside more than just his cloak, and then he promptly lost track of that thought as Emerald repositioned himself and then took Draco's cock into his mouth.

He had thought that he could be no more relaxed than he had felt after Emerald had worked his muscles loose, but he had been very wrong. With a relieved sigh, Draco sank back into the bed, allowing his eyes to fall closed as Emerald's tongue lapped up and down his length, ran along the vein on the underside of his cock. All too soon, Emerald was sitting-up from his unfinished task, and Draco was preparing a protest, had just managed to level a glare at his cheeky lover when Emerald smiled serenely and then sank down onto Draco's cock. His body was wet and warm and delicious tight around Draco, and he leaned forward and whispered, “Take me.”

Apparently, he had not been rendered boneless from his massage. Draco braced Emerald against his raised legs, gripped his hips and then toppled him onto the bed until he was above the dark hair youth. The rhythm he set was slow and deep, his body braced close to Emerald's and their breath intermingling. Draco kept their released at bay, stopping when he felt it rising to a pitch, and instead they simply were. Together, wrapped up in one another, their mouthes barely separating for breath, their hands bracing, tracing and tangling up with the other until finally, Emerald's head tilted back and eyes closed as Draco dropped his head forward, they came.

“Now,” Emerald said, as if they hadn’t just achieved a rather intense orgasm just a moment ago, but were instead continuing a casual conversation. “Tell me what happened today.” His fingers were tangling in blond hair as Draco rested his head against the other's chest and, strangely, Draco felt compelled to answer.

There was a part of him that remembered the stubborn, rebellious captive; a part of him that could only wonder at the sense in confiding matters of state to someone who rebelled against the empire. The greater part of him Draco, however, could not think of a better person to confide in. Emerald had already proven himself to be both intelligent and cunning, and Draco trusted that even if the other would not offer and opinion, he would at least listen, which was more than anyone seemed to be doing for Draco with respect to these matters.

Draco told Emerald about Theodore Notte, the arrogant prick of a king who was currently in negotiations with Lucius in the hopes of formulating a peace treaty. Notte, however, was proving to be stubborn and unreasonable, and both Lucius and Draco were at a loss as to how to deal with him.

“He’s coming to Agathe to organize the final arrangements, and it’s going to be a disaster. He doesn’t respect father at all. Notte is a new king, and young, and sees my father as weak because of his age. He’s not that old!” Draco hissed. “And he’s the emperor, and what the hell has Notte done? Nothing; he hasn’t even fought and won a damn war yet.”

“You should lead the negotiations, as High Prince. Claim that you are taking over an increasing number of court duties, and you can be the mouthpiece for the whole treaty,” Emerald offered.

“We thought of that, and it worked to some extent, but …” Draco trailed off. “I think it’s the way the whole thing is conducted. Notte is the king of a fairly large country, you know Tharsis? Well, thugs and the like mainly populate it. I don’t think they’re used to the sort of negotiations that are straight and above board and lacking in a show of force.”

“That’s simple enough, put on a show of force. Soldiers as escorts and have them present during negotiations and the like,” Harry said, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind Draco's ear.

“Father doesn’t like that idea because, while it could snap Notte into acting sensibly, it could also insult him, or put him on edge, and father doesn't think it’s worth the risk.” Draco could understand the concern but at the same time, that was politics. They had to take a risk, they could not afford a war with Tharsis and putting on an elaborate show of things during Notte's visit would in no way be difficult.

Emerald's arms settled on Draco's back as he said, “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” in a voice full of such quiet confidence that Draco almost felt a fool for worrying.

………………………..

“Good morning!” Harry greeted with a smile as he crossed the last bridge on the balcony walkway that linked his rooms to those of the prince. It wasn’t often he ran into Severus unless he sought him out directly, which Harry made a point of doing every so often, since it never hurt to make allies of those in authority.

“Emerald,” the man said. He still spoke Harry’s name oddly, half a sigh and part sneer, and Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it. Still, he liked the dour man and Severus seemed to tolerate him. “I felt I should alert you to some minor changes I am making to your accommodations.” The man looked so completely unconcerned that Harry could almost believe that this conversation wasn’t about anything serious, but he knew better.

“What is wrong?” The fell into step, walking in the direction of Harry's rooms.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about. Precautions only,” Severus said dismissively. “The prince values your safety and has entrusted me with the task. These changes will only make my job simpler.” Harry could tell that this was all Severus would reveal to him. Still, it was fairly obvious what was really happening.

“Thank-you,” Harry said quietly, after they had reached the door to his chambers. “I --,” he wasn’t sure how to continue. As Keeper of the Royal Harem, it was part of Severus' duty to keep everyone within the harem walls safe; but quite outside the responsibilities that the man's job entailed, Harry felt safe with Severus. Knowing the man was looking out for him always went a long way in soothing Harry's frazzled nerves. Whether or not Severus was merely doing his duty, it made Harry feel cared for.

Severus pursed his lips, though Harry noted a slight lift at the corner of his pressed mouth. “There is no need to thank me.” His voice did not sound harsh.

“No,” Harry agreed with a smile, glancing up shyly at taller man. “I don’t need to.” He twisted the handle to his rooms and stepped inside, chancing another brief glance back before shutting the door. For just a moment Harry stood still in his rooms, his eyes cast down to the floor and then he shook himself into action, moving to get washed and changed for a visit to the stables. The prince was waiting for him.


	5. Dangerously Sensual

Harry’s world was a smooth mosaic of sound and sense. The distant whisper of voices layered on the faint trace of music and the scuff of sandal shod feet across cool marble floors; despite the fact that a part of him knew that he was not alone, that he was in fact in a room full of people, to him it felt as if there were nothing beyond himself and the music.

He twisted his hips, the movement causing the loose silk of the pants he wore to brush against his body, cool against his heated flesh. Harry was sweating slightly, and he was certain that if he opened his eyes there would be a sheen on his bare chest that he had previously only seen on his skin after working out in the field when he had been home, or more recently, after a vigorous bout with Draco. Despite the heat of his skin, Harry felt very relaxed and not at all uncomfortable.

He spun in a slow circle, wrapping his arms close about his chest, tipping his head back. He was vaguely aware of a presence moving close to him and it made him want to smile, though he settled for relaxing his body as hands gripped him about the waist. It felt wonderful, as if they were slowly merging into one fluid form. The added heat at his back urged him on in his movements and Harry turned in the embrace and allowed his forehead to rest against the broad chest.

The hand that was loosely wrapped about his waist ghosted up his bare back until it firmly gripped the back of his neck and Harry didn’t tense or even hesitate as his body was forced to arch backward, his weight supported by the hand bracing his neck and one still gripping his waist. When he was pulled up from the dip Harry opened his eyes, keeping them half-lidded, and he pouted prettily as he draped his own arm about the front of Dean’s shoulders and, maintaining the contact, walked slowly around him.

Everything was hot and erotic. Everything was sex. Harry imagined that everything in the room was making love to him at that moment: the eyes of the people who no doubt devoured their every shift, the music as it ghosted over his body and urged him to move in ways he’d never done before, Dean, his body thrumming and Harry could feel it, though they never spoke of it. The silk he wore, the very air about him; and he let it all take him to a new level of arousal, one that wasn’t expressed in any way except through his dancing, through the slowing of his movement until he could make women groan with the slowest twist of his hips and men beg with the barest tilt of his head.

Harry allowed his body to be pulled flush against Dean’s chest and he rapped a leg about the taller man’s waist, pulling their bodies even closer, their faces so near that their noses brushed, and they were panting, equally seduced by their dance. The court mistakenly thought the performance was for them. It made Harry feel giddy inside, knowing that whenever he and Dean danced it was for no one but each other. They put everything into it, seducing one another and teasing, making love with every cool caress or spin or dip, because they both knew it was all they’d ever have of the other.

The dance ended with another dip, this time Dean leaned over with him and bent his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the base of Harry’s throat, but the other man’s hair and the angle which they were at kept the action hidden from their audience, who were too busy applauding to notice the crime. Dean pulled him up again smiling broadly, and without letting go of Harry’s wrist, led him off the small stage and into the back where the others were already waiting.

“That was amazing, as usual,” Pearl, one of the other dancers said, kissing both Harry and Dean on the cheek. “Hurry up and get changed, we need you both for the group dance right after. And Dean, the prince was speaking with me about some party next week. He wants us all there.”

“What’s so special about that? We’ve danced for the court before,” Harry asked when he caught the significant looks that passed between Pearl and Dean.

“The prince hosts small parties with close friends. When we dance for them, it’s an entirely different kind of dance. If you thought today was hot, little Emerald, dance at one of the prince’s gatherings,” Pearl said with a smile. “Now hurry up!” and she ushered them over to change costumes.

…………………..

Severus took his eyes from the hypnotic and sensual dance for only the briefest of moments to acknowledge Blaise as he came to stand beside him, before they both turned their gazes back on the catamite who everyone in the palace, and in the city, was whispering about. Here, dancing as he was, it did not take a very imaginative mind to conjure the reason to Emerald’s continued success; the youth was beautiful, confident, and radiated an intriguing blend of sex and innocence like the sun cast-off rays of light.

“The prince is quite captivated by him,” Blaise said after a moment, not looking away from the scene as Dean ran his hands up Emerald’s torso, cupping him under his arms and hoisting him into the air, their bodies close. “I think he is not the only one.”

Severus was quiet a moment, sifting through the layers of implication and query in the statement and in the end, he answered the only way he could, “I find it is disturbingly simple to become so.”

“I agree,” Blaise said. Again they were silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts, their own futile affections. “I heard news that you have hired a taster for his meals.”

“I believe it would be imprudent not to do so.”

“I had been under the impression that one was already employed.” Blaise turned his eyes from the dancers and fixed his worried frown on Severus, because the other man’s silence was answer enough to his question. “Does he know?”

“I found no reason to enlighten him of the turmoil within the harem that his success is causing. I am aware of it, and that is enough. He does nothing foolish, and spends little time in the place as it is.”

Blaise turned his eyes back and they fixed on Emerald once again. “I don’t see how they can want to kill him.”

“I thought your kind was heralded as the intelligent bunch,” Severus snarked. “It is not him they wish to kill, it is what he represents. It is clear to everyone exactly who it is that Draco wishes to take as Consort, there is little doubt in anyone’s mind. The gossip, even now, turns in this direction on farmland and manor house alike, both within the city and without. As far as the peasants are concerned the wedding might as well have already taken place. Yet there are those within the harem, as you should well know by now, who covet not the prince, but what a marriage to him stands to offer.”

“Politics,” Blaise snorted with disgust.

“Yes.” Severus turned and met Blaise directly. “You would do well to learn the fine art of lies and manipulation that is politics, otherwise you cannot expect to be of any use to him.” Severus turned on his heel, walking in a swirl of robes from the building towards the back of the large hall where the dancers had sectioned off a changing area. Blaise pondered the man's words as he found his own way outside.

He was one of the prince’s advisor’s and also one of his closest friends. Lately, Draco had taken to bringing Emerald along to an increasing number of their discussions. It had not taken long for Blaise’s affection for the young man who looked sweet and innocent, but planned and plotted better than some of their most astute generals, to grow beyond what he had been able to convince himself was appropriate. Severus raised a point. Emerald had nothing yet; he was precariously poised at the moment, mid-step between nothing and everything, and the slightest error could see him banished, or worse. Yet Blaise as well as Severus, were perfectly placed in positions where they could help the alluring youth. Severus was already turning his considerable power to Emerald’s aid, whether the catamite knew of it or not.

But what of Blaise? He had spent his days locked in the library, doing his best to forget the hopelessness of his situation. He’d avoided the youth, and lately, had been avoiding the palace as well, but even without his presence, he knew things were already growing increasingly more serious. Blaise knew Severus had hired a taster as soon as Emerald’s prolonged favor had grown apparent; and Blaise did not like to reflect on the implications, but either way, plots were abounding and schemes were moving forward. Whether Blaise hid in his library, or fought for what he … fought for Emerald’s security, there was still going to be uncertainty in the outcome, it was just a question of what Blaise was willing to sacrifice, and what he was willing to risk. It was easy, then, to come to a decision. His pace picking-up momentum, Blaise turned his steps toward the palace.

………………………….

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the vase that held another orchid blossom; the fifth that Harry had received within the past two weeks. He huffed and slowly managed to push the blankets off himself, reluctantly getting out of bed. Draco had been so busy with organizing the palace for Nott’s visit that they had barely had any opportunities to spend time together. Harry had to admit that he had lost all patience with the king who had suddenly become quite hesitant and uncertain and was relying heavily on his son for even the barest of decisions. It meant that, for the fifth night in fourteen days, Harry was left on his own. Sometimes he really hated how spoiled he’d gotten.

Determined to take his mind off things, Harry hastily threw on his riding things. The walk from the harem to the stables was not a long one, but he appreciated the opportunity to get away from the stares and the whispers that lately haunted his steps. Freedom to walk about the palace grounds as he pleased was one of the benefits that Draco had deemed fit to grace him with in the past four and a half months that they had been together, and it was one gift that he felt the most grateful for. Harry knew his travels were always haunted by Justin Finch-Fletchley, a young eunuch and warrior (a rare combination) who had been entrusted with Harry’s protection when he roamed, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom to leave the harem, even the palace itself at times.

Arriving at the stables, Harry walked directly to the far-end of the building where fiery red horse's stall was situated, calling a soft greeting as he slid-back the stall door and stepped inside. The hot-tempered horse was feared by all of the stable hands, and it was only a particularly brave and stubborn army captain who had accepted the perilous task of tending to the beast that had been a gift to the royal family.

The horse had been dubbed Demon, and Harry thought that the creature took a certain amount of pride in its name, he certainly made a strong attempt to live up to it. Yet Demon was always on his best behavior in regards to the lithe catamite, and Harry rewarded the horse’s good behavior with apples that he would sneak on his daily excursions to the stable. And Harry did have to sneak them to the animal as the keeper of the stables had placed a ban on any reward given to Demon until his behavior changed, not that it seemed to be helping with the horse's general disposition.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Mardirand, the keeper of the stables said, as he peered into the stall. “It was all too quiet, of a sudden, and the only one who ever gets him to shut up is you.”

Harry smiled back widely and patted Demon gently on the snout before exiting the stall to speak with the man. “Did you need me for something?” Harry asked, confused as to why the man would seek him out. Mardirand was a nice man and very pleasant to speak with, but he preferred the company of horses and usually kept out of the way.

“He’s yours,” Mardirand said bluntly, nodding his head in the direction of Demon.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, glancing at the horse briefly before turning back to the taller man.

“Order of the High Prince. He spoke with me directly, he did. Said that the beast was yours and wanted us all to know, and that he wanted it to be a surprise, but if you were to come in for a ride before he had the chance to tell you himself, to tell you in his stead because the damn thing isn’t getting enough exercise.”

Harry felt a good many things at hearing this news. Every time Draco gifted him with something Harry was always deeply touched, but this was by far the greatest gift the prince had ever given him. Demon was a marvelous creature and already shared a bond with Harry, however inexplicable; but with the gift was an implied trust and freedom, because Harry now had a horse of his very own, rather than using horses that Mardirand would loan him from the stables, and horses could travel fair distances.

Despite his tangle of emotion, Harry kept his face pleasantly blank and merely smiled at the man and nodded his head. “I imagine Wardby is relieved to hear he no longer has to tend to him,” Harry joked, referring to the captain who had previously been entrusted with Demon’s care.

“Yes, fairly relieved,” Mardirand said with a wide grin. “I took the liberty of preparing the beast’s tack, since I’s was knowing you’d be down for a ride today.” Harry’s pattern was fairly predictable; he made a mental note to change his routine, if only to ease Severus' mind. Through his brief talks with the keeper, Harry knew that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep Harry removed from the upheaval within the harem that his lasting favor with the prince was causing, there was no reason to make eliminating him any easier.

Harry accepted the gear and hastily readied Demon before leading his horse outside of the stables and out into the sun.

Demon was the fastest horse Harry had ever had the pleasure to ride. His gait was long but his stride smooth, and once Harry had adjusted to the horse, and the horse had adjusted to him, Harry had coaxed Demon into a full-out sprint away from the palace, following the well-trodden path that wound through wood and field and passed stream and waterfall, all of which were on the palace grounds.

With the wind in his hair, Harry imagined that he had never been caged at all, that he had never seen the harem, or known what the bowels of Agathe looked like. He imagined himself riding Demon beyond the palace walls, through the crowded streets and away towards Wystenia. He imagined his home, bright and peaceful and waiting for him. He imagined each of the millions of possibilities, but then he noticed the position of the sun in the sky and dutifully turned Demon to return to their respective cages. Draco would likely wish to see him that night, and Harry had to thank him for his gift.

………………………

As was their usual morning tradition, Emerald and Cho sat on the edge of the pool after a long swim and enjoyed the fruit Gwynn had brought for them. Today it was a bowl of cherries, which had sparked a very peculiar game between the two friends.

“It’s all in the tongue,” Cho said as she plucked off a stem from one of the cherries, took it into her mouth and after a moment, removed it again with a quaint knot tied at the centre of it.

“That’s helpful,” Harry muttered as he plucked off a stem and popped it into his mouth. He sucked on it, he contorted it in his tongue, even managed to loop it but then was at a loss as to how he could bring the one end through the loop, and in the end popped the stem out with an indignant expression at the thing’s complete and utter lack of cooperation.

“Oh, that’s pathetic, Emerald,” Cho teased. “I don’t know what the prince sees in you, then!”

“Yes, because it is, of course, the prerequisite of all members of the harem to tie cherry stems into little knots. I’d much rather eat the cherries than tongue-fuck them!”

“Ahem.” The low sound of a throat clearing caused both friends to twist in their seats and see who the intruder was.

“Severus!” Emerald greeted happily then, upon recalling the nature of the conversation the Keeper of the harem had just stumbled on, turned a vibrant shade of pink. Severus, who seemed to be attempting to smother a smirk, nodded at them both before gesturing Emerald over. “What is wrong?” Emerald asked as he crossed to the man's side, twisting the long towel about his waist.

“There is nothing wrong, I am simply delivering a message from the prince.”

“Draco? Another orchid, is it?” Harry asked, feeling just the slightest bit put-out. He knew that with Nott’s upcoming visit and the king’s recent illness Draco had been quite busy, and the fact that he’d still managed to make as much time for Harry as he had was quite an accomplishment.

“The prince expects you in his chambers this night,” Severus said with a twitch in his lips, and Harry knew his friend was attempting to quell a smirk. Severus was evil like that. “I am here to relay to you the invitation extended to the Oraios. You are invited to dance at the dinner party the prince is having this weekend. He specifically requested a dance from you.”

“One of his soirees?” Harry had heard about the parties Draco purportedly held, but had thus far never been to one. “Yes, of course I’ll dance,” he answered when he realized that Severus’ emphasis of the word ‘invitation’ meant that this was yet another thing the prince wished for but would not force from him. Severus nodded and half-bowed in a way he’d been doing for a while now.

“What was all that about?” Cho asked when Harry returned to his seat.

“Draco asked me to dance for him.”

“I thought you already do?”

“At one of his soirées. He asked for me specifically.”

“Well, he would,” she dismissed with a casual wave. “You’re his little treasure,” she teased, and Harry rolled his eyes.

…………………………

The weekend came much faster than Harry anticipated. Days passed in a blur of full-day practices and nights with Draco. He'd spent most of the week feeling utterly exhausted and, subsequently, Harry had taken the afternoon before the performance to himself in an attempt to catch-up on much-needed sleep, and it was because of this that he found himself sprinting through the back hallways of the palace heading towards the dressing room where he should have already been in costume.

“You’re late!” Pearl hissed when he came tumbling through the door.

“I know, I know!” Harry said distractedly, already tearing off his clothes and heading towards the dark crimson wrap that would be his only piece of attire.

“We need help, here!” Pearl cried, and in a flash, Harry found himself surrounded by the other dances, each grabbing items of his costume and getting him ready. There were gold armbands and bracelets, a gold collar and a gold anklet, to echo the gold lining on the red wrap he wore. His head was tugged to the side and two of the female dancers smeared gloss on his lips and kohled his eyes, and he felt someone else applying the glitter to his hair and body, and yet another outlining his nipples with henna.

Harry found it amusing that, though their costumes were practically identical, he always looked more feminine then those who made up the male portion of the Oraios. All of the male dancers were taller than he was, though he was not that short by any means; and the majority of them had a much greater muscle mass. While on the other men the gold bands stretched tight over rippling muscle, Harry’s bands were just the slightest bit loose. And, because of his standing in the prince’s favor, he was always given something that would further attract attention to him, in this case it was more glitter and gold threads in his wrap, just enough to sparkle in the light but not so much that someone could realize they were there.

“Come on!” one of the men called, and everyone stepped back from him and surveyed him a moment before turning on their heels and hurrying out.

“Emerald!” Dean called, grabbing Harry’s arm before he could leave the dressing room.

“Dean,” Harry said, his voice sounding the slightest bit hoarse. Dean cupped the back of his neck and tugged him closer so that their foreheads rested against each other and the movement was intimate enough that Harry glanced to either side of him to make certain there were still others in the room. Having an audience and being this intimate was one thing, the Oraios were used to touching each other when they danced, but if he and Dean were alone, that made the action mean something else entirely.

“Are you ready?” Dean asked, his voice soft.

“Erm …” Harry cleared his throat, and then responded affirmatively.

“We’ll dance like fire,” Dean said, which was what he always said, and Harry wasn’t sure why he did, or what exactly he meant by it. He couldn't deny, however, that whenever he was near the other man, he felt hot and full of wanting. It was forbidden, but the more he danced, the more difficult it was to set aside his budding feelings. He pressed a hand to Dean's chest, palm resting flat so he could feel the soft thump of the man's heart, and he nodded. In that moment, he would have promised Dean anything at all.

………………..

Draco was reclining on a soft cushion, sipping on a glass of fine wine and doing his best to hide his boredom with the conversation that was taking place around him. He had originally arranged for a party because he had sorely needed a break. Between his father falling ill and his needing to take-over the running of the palace not to mention the empire while Lucius recuperated, and planning the meeting with Nott, Draco had been hard-pressed to find a moment to himself.

Of course, there was always Emerald. He had become increasingly appreciative of the young catamite. Emerald always knew exactly what he needed to relax. There were several occasions where they didn’t even make love, merely snacked on a late dinner while sprawled on Draco’s large bed, talking until they fell asleep, too tired to do much of anything else.

“Any tasty morsels out for the sampling tonight?” Dartiver asked and Draco only just managed to smirk back and hide his disdain for the man because he had been trained since birth to do so.

Lord Dartiver was not really a lord; at least, he had the title, but neither the money, the land, nor the political clout to be of any use as a lord. Still, he liked to consider himself important, and Lucius had let the man be, much to Draco’s chagrin, he did not approve of his father pandering to fops and idiots as he did. If it were up to Draco, everyone with a title would be someone who could aid the empire.

Dartiver doubly irritated Draco because not only was he completely pompous and totally useless, but the man was well over fifty, and round and balding, yet continually insisted on cozying up to Draco and behaving as if he were as young as everyone else at the prince’s parties. Despite the fact that the prince never issued any invitations to Dartiver when it came to his private soirées, somehow the man never missed a one, and arrived unfashionably early to each. Draco would have tossed the man out on his ear, were it not for the fact that Lucius had firmly reprimanded him and issued a direct order to make nice with the members of teh court; all of them.

The musicians occupied the far corner plucking out a soft melody that was meant as background music, just alluring enough to keep the audience anticipating the coming performance. The room was filled with conversations that blended into each other, just like the smoke from some of his guests’ pipes blended with the air to create a comfortable haze, the smell of the bitter pipeweed mixing with the perfumes that his guests always applied in abundance with the hope to distract their dinner companions from the scent of sweat that the warm weather and close-quarters resulted in.

“I heard that you had added a new dancer to the Oraios?” Dartiver questioned.

“That, dear man, is very old news,” said another lord, leaning over to shake his head at Dartiver’s lack of knowledge. “I understand that it was that young man we’ve been seeing around the palace?” Draco nodded his head vaguely, only half listening. These men could gossip and lust after Emerald all they wanted, in the end Emerald belong solely to him, and it was to his bed that the youth would be retiring that night. No one else's.

A clear ringing of a chime silenced the room. The hush fell over the musicians who ceased their song, and the guests who were distracted from their conversation; in unison, everyone turned to the front of the large room to where a make-shift stage had been set-up, only slightly higher than the tables on which everyone was dining.

Two well-muscled guards who Draco employed as security for his dancers and to make certain that his Oraios were behaving themselves had pulled aside the gauzy curtains that sectioned off the stage. Draco settled in his cushion, watching as an ordered line of dancers entered, one line from each side of the stage and met each other in the middle. He scanned the row for a sign of Emerald, but could see none. The music had yet to begin but his dancers already cast an alluring image, dressed as they were in revealing garments, the women exposing their midsections, and the men dressed only in gold jewelry and short wraps of fabric that hung low on their waists.

Cued by some unseen gesture, one of the musicians let out a guttural shout, and as one the dancers raised their arms above their hands, palms pressing and as the music began, a fast beat, wild and erotic. The dancers began to move.

The line broke and allowed two figures forward, and the others formed a half-circle about the two new figures, twisting their hips in a rapid shake, and then pulsing their hips forward and back, their heads thrown back in various depictions of surrender. Draco wasn’t looking at them.

In the center of the arch of dancers was Emerald. Like the others, he was rotating his hips in small circle, his pelvis close to that of another dancer who was moving in the same fashion, their hips grinding close to each other, but never making contact. The other man, who Draco recognized as Dean Thomas, the head of his Oraios, placed a hand at the small of Emerald’s back and Emerald shifted his body, one arm bracing on Thomas’ back and his legs wrapping around the other man’s waist. Their hips pulsed, and Emerald arched his body backward in a sharp angle.

When Emerald righted himself in the tight embrace his face was close to Thomas’ and Draco could feel himself grow hard with wanting as he imagined himself replacing the taller man who danced so well with his treasure. Emerald’s cheeks were flushing with exertion and a thin sheen of sweat was coating his lean, golden body. Emerald touched the ground with one foot, allowing Thomas to drag him like that for a few steps before he stretched his arms out, pushing Thomas away, kicked out with his left leg, which Thomas had been holding around his body, and then turned his back on his fellow dancer.

Emerald’s body was fluid and loose, the embodiment of sex as he twisted his way across the stage, and Draco watched as Thomas followed him and yanked the green-eyed boy to his chest, pressing Emerald’s back close to his own body, and Emerald tilted his head back to rest gently against his fellow dancer’s shoulder, the picture of submission. The other dancers stepped in then, whirling around the stage until it looked like an orgy with every participant still clothed. When they moved aside again, Draco’s breath caught as he watched Emerald with Thomas, again Emerald was confined by the other dancer’s arms and his body, their movements liquid sex. A shiver went through Draco as he watched them, feeling at once a desperate wanting for Emerald, and also a strange feeling, as if he were observing a private moment between two lovers.

The dance came to a close with Emerald, and half of the other dancers, in the arms of their dancing partners, their legs wrapped around the other’s torso, their arms about their heads, looking for all intents and purposes as if they were frozen in a moment of ecstacy.

Draco managed to wait for the Oraios to file off the stage, the audience still clapping and cheering and shouting for more; and then he rose from his chair and hastily exited the dining hall.

………………………

Harry burst into his changing room laughing, exhilarated as he always was from his dance. He had forgotten once again that they had an audience and let himself completely go, savouring every movement; every moment of being with Dean in the only way they had.

His thoughts were so full of his dancing companion that at first, when lips descending down upon his own and he felt his body pushed back against the door he had just come through, he believed it was Dean who had come to him. He raised a hand to Dean’s chest pushing lightly, hoping to catch a breath and when Dean stepped back, Harry realized he had been mistaken. When he opened his eyes, his breath coming in steadier gasps, it was grey eyes not brown that were looking back at him.

“Draco?” he asked, feeling very disoriented and the slightest bit dazed. Draco stepped closer to him once more, and at the same time he was registering the prince’s erection rubbing against his stomach, he felt the prince push a leg between his thighs and became aware of his own arousal.

“You never told me you could dance like that,” Draco scolded in a husky purr. “You could have at least given me a warning.” Harry couldn’t answer, his eyes had rolled into the back of his head as the prince suckled at his neck and bit lightly at the sensitive spot between neck and shoulder.

“Your guests?” Harry managed to question.

“A valid point,” Draco said, and stepped back, which made Harry pause a moment to see what he had done to cause that reaction, and then his brain cleared and he attempted to compose himself. “I’m going to chase them out of my palace, and you’re going to get ready for me, and then,” and here the prince stepped close again to purr softly directly into Harry’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you again and again, on every available surface in my chambers.”

The prince was gone by the time Harry managed to compose himself, and then he had to hurry and change out of his performance clothes because he needed to return to his rooms and wash before he went to the prince’s chambers. He was just pulling on his shirt when there was a gentle knock on the door. “Come in!” he called as he dragged his shoes over to a chair and tried to wedge them onto his feet.

“Emerald?” a voice asked softly.

Harry’s head snapped up. “Dean?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Erm. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“You were fire tonight,” Dean said, his breath ghosting across Harry’s face causing him to shiver in the same way that the prince’s caresses did.

“Fire,” Harry concurred, his eyes threatening to fall closed. Perhaps his body was simply sensitive from the prince’s earlier assault, but Harry wanted this man that stood before him now, and even if every ounce of sense in his body was demanding he step away, he found he could not move. Dean’s fingers ghosted softly along his cheek, tucked errant strands of sweat-damp hair behind his ear, and then urged Harry to meet his gaze again.

When Harry once again looked up at Dean, the man lowered his head until his lips were just short of contacting Harry’s, a mere hairsbreadth apart. “Fire,” he said again, and smiled softly before stepping away again and exiting Harry’s room.

……………………..

Harry wasn’t running when he returned to his rooms, though the prince was waiting for him. Instead, he entered in a daze and began to listlessly toss his clothes off as he headed to wash. He did not notice Cho, who stood perhaps a little too elaborately clothed than was normal for this time of night, nor did he notice Gwynn, who was already preparing an outfit from his closet and setting it out on the bed.

He did not notice anything until he was seated in his bath and Cho stormed in, glaring at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice not quite a shout.

“Cho?” He startled in his tub, his eyes flying wide. “What are you doing?”

“I saw you!” she said. “I was there as part of the eye-candy!” Harry noticed her attire but still didn’t quite follow what might be wrong. ”Emerald,” she said, and sounded sympathetic, as if she were aching for him. “You can’t continue like this.”

“Like what?”

“I saw your dance with Dean,” she explained, her voice soft now.

Harry tensed and concentrated on sponging the glitter from his body. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t keep doing this. You have the attention of everyone in the kingdom, they’ll notice if you start-up an affair with another catamite!”

“It’s not an affair!” he hissed. He finished washing and rose from the bath, towelling off and wrapping a robe around himself.

“Then what is it? You’re clearly lusting after each other!”

“You can’t understand it?” he asked, his voice rising. “You can’t grasp why I might feel for Dean the way I do?”

“No, I can’t!” she shouted back. “He’ll only be trouble for you! You have the prince! You practically have everything everyone in this godforsaken harem has ever wanted! So no, I don’t understand why you would throw it away!”

“It’s because he’s beautiful, and amazing,” Harry answered. “He loves me! He’s something that’s only mine, and he loves me, and I know it’s stupid! I know! But I can’t help it because it’s not like it is with the prince! Because he really cares and he really wants me and … and I chose him!” Harry finished, his shout cracking slightly with emotion.

“Oh, sweet-thing,” Cho crooned, pulling him against her as she brushed his hair with her fingers. Harry let himself be held, his whole soul aching with the emptiness he felt, with the hurt and sorrow and desperate wanting he felt to be loved by someone, anyone. After a moment, Cho pushed him back slightly and stroked his cheek. “Dean doesn’t love you.”

Harry winced and tried to tug away from her. “You’re lying!” he hissed, and managed to break free of her grasp.

She looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. “You’re not the first who has believed that Dean Thomas has a heart,” she said. “He’s done it before with other hopeful little prospects. Once he’s had them, he turns them out of his bed and moves on to the next.”

“Shut up!”

“He’s broken the law before! Lain with others who belong to the prince before! You’re not the first to believe his pretty lies.” She said it all softly, gently but emphatically, and Harry felt himself breaking apart, twice betrayed and didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I have to go,” he said. “The prince …” he turned his back on her, dressed quickly and left his chambers all without uttering another sound.

Standing in the doorway that separated his bathroom from his bedroom, Cho watched him as he moved and waited still after he had left. When his silhouette had disappeared along the balcony walkway, Gwynn stepped in front of her and touched her cheek to get her attention. “You lied to him.” Her expression was not placing blame nor did it show signs of upset, Gwynn seemed merely to be stating a fact.

“I had to protect him,” Cho answered. “He would have gone and done something stupid if I hadn’t said what I did.”

“I think you envy Dean and the prince,” Gwynn said. “They each have a part of him that you can never have.”

Cho drew herself upward and her guarded expression fell back into place. “What of it?” she asked, and it was Gwynn’s turn to look upon her friend with sorrow in her eyes. Cho turned on her heel and stormed from the rooms.

……………………..

Draco’s tongue played down Emerald’s panting chest. He wasn’t sure what to expect, so he kept an eye on the dark-haired youth.

When Emerald had come to his chambers, Draco had been surprised by his attitude. Emerald had toyed with the line between dominant and submissive before, and the prince had to admit to enjoying the mock power play. This night, however, Emerald was not playing a game; he had stopped any words Draco had attempted to speak with kisses or bites or licks, he’d tackled the prince to the bed without so much as stopping to shed his cloak, and they’d proceeded to roll about, alternately trying to strip the other and devour him.

Now Emerald lay on his back, they were both naked and Draco was enjoying the taste of his lover’s body until slender, long-fingered hands raked through his hair and then yanked his head up and back. “Fuck me,” Emerald commanded, and even if Draco wasn’t used to taking orders, it didn’t even occur to him not to follow this one.

He went to a drawer to fetch some lubricant and when he returned Emerald had already turned over and settled himself on his hands and knees. Draco had wanted to see Emerald’s face as they had sex but he didn’t voice his desire, instead he coated himself with the lubricant and, without stopping to prepare Emerald, slid into the awaiting body.

He didn’t wait, simply started pumping his hips as soon as he was fully sheathed, but after several pushes forward, Emerald began to jerk his hips back and clamped a hand around the back of his thigh urging him to move faster, to fuck him harder. Draco once again complied. He wasn’t sure what Emerald was thinking; he wasn’t sure what had happened in the time following the dance and Emerald’s arrival in his rooms. He wondered if he’d sent the wrong signal when he’d tackled Emerald in his dressing rooms, coming on too strong and making his lover think he wanted it hard and fast like this, when in reality he had just been filled with lust and wanted to have the boy in any way he could.

Something about their lovemaking was off. Draco felt oddly alone in his experience, as if he were separate from his lover, blocked by some unseen wall Emerald had erected. Try as he might however, Draco could not reason what he might have said or done that would have this effect.

When he climaxed, he felt physically sated but unsatisfied. Emerald shifted onto his side with his back to Draco, and Draco was at a loss. Feeling hurt and lost, he shifted to lie against Emerald’s back and carefully wrapped his lover up in his arms, hoping that whatever had hurt the youth would be healed if he simply held him tight enough.

………..

The pavilion where they were was open and roofless, exposing them to the heat of the sun that shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky. The Oraios stood along the side watching as Emerald walked to the centre of the pavilion to meet Dean where he stood. Everyone could sense a shift between the pair, but none could pinpoint it.

Before Dean could give the cue, as he always did, Emerald raised a hand to the musicians and gestured them to begin, their rhythm fast and furious. Emerald began moving without missing a beat and it took Dean a moment to catch-up because Emerald was clearly improvising and making no attempt to include Dean in his movements.

Emerald arched his hips from left to right for several beats and then twisted his body away from Dean entirely, lunging forward as he arched his upper body backward toward Dean, fingers reaching out as if beckoning him closer, but when Dean moved to comply Emerald skimmed his body close to his partner’s, their skin touching before Emerald pressed a palm firmly against Dean’s chest and pushed him away.

The other dancers watched, fascinated by the performance and trying to understand the shift occuring before their eyes. Emerald had always seemed happy to play the submissive dancer, blending his body with Dean’s so that their movements were erotic and slow, like sex on the dance floor. Now, they watched as Emerald alternately pulled a lover close to him and pushed an enemy back. Dean’s own movements were becoming more forceful to match his partner’s. As passionate as the dance was, there was an element of turmoil and anger that made it all the more amazing.

Dean caught hold of Emerald’s wrist and pulled so the other man spun into his chest. In answer, Emerald raised his left leg up, wrapping it around Dean’s waist as they had often done, drawing Dean closer. Then the leg extended to the side and before Dean could process it, Emerald had brought his foot between them and pushed Dean away.

Dean couldn’t understand what was happening between them. Nothing in his last encounter with the other man would give cause, Dean thought, to the way in which Emerald fought with him now as they danced. He rushed forward as Emerald turned his back and caught the lean body up again in his arms, relishing the way Emerald relaxed backward, allowing Dean to pull him backwards, and then Emerald tensed, spinning around, draping his arms about Dean’s neck, pulling him close to rest his forehead against his pectoral, and then pushing him away, roughly arching Dean backward.

Their breath was coming quickly as they attempted to negotiate through dance. Anything that Dean tried, however, was ignored by Emerald. The dance came to an abrupt end when Dean wrapped his arms around his partner, hoping to quell the unexpected anger and Emerald twisted out of the hold, breaking away and hastily walking out of the pavilion as the musicians trailed off, unsure what had happened.

………………..

Harry sat propped against the pillows that were braced against the headboard. His knees were bent, feet resting against the soft blankets, warmed by Draco who had settled between his legs. Harry toyed idly with blond hair and thought of an appropriate response to the rant that he had just listened to. “You just have to play it out and see how it ends,” was his conclusion.

“I already know how it ends,” Draco insisted. “I’m trying to avoid a war. I don’t understand my father.”

“He’s not acting at all how you envisioned he might, is he?”

“He is a good ruler,” Draco said emphatically. “But … but I don’t understand his reasoning.”

Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's head as he said, “Even a good ruler is not infallible.”

Silence stretched as Draco contemplated the statement. “It’s that he won’t see reason. He won’t strategize!” he finally said, venting the thoughts he had been holding-in since he had first become aware of the difficulties with Nott. “He places ridiculous limitations on our negotiations that could very easily cost us in the future.”

“You’ll work it out,” Harry assured his lover.

“So long as you, my brilliant strategist, promise to help.” Draco turned round in Harry’s loose embrace so that they lay chest to chest.

“I promise,” Harry answered.

……………..

There was something about the Serpent Temple that kept drawing Harry back to it. Unlike the rest of the palace zoo, most people found the snakes unsettling, so it was always empty of most everyone, and he had discovered that he could lose track of all time there, lulled by the snakes' sibilant hisses.

Harry had been doing his best to avoid Cho since her revelation after his performance, something that was made conveniently simple by the fact that Harry had been granted royal permission to wander the palace, something that Cho did not have. Most of his time was taken up trying to figure ways to help Draco who was becoming increasingly frustrated with his efforts at political strategy being thwarted by his own father, at least where they concerned Nott. The new king's impending visit was causing a rift between father and son as Lucius became increasingly cautious and conservative and Draco attempted to explain that those were two words that would absolutely encourage Nott's feelings of disdain and hostility.

As the boa constrictor slid carelessly over Harry's outstretched leg a thought suddenly caught him in its grasp and he rose carefully, exiting the chamber and then breaking into a full run toward the palace. He raced through the halls, heedless of the spectacle he presented, running like a giddy schoolboy through the busy halls. He rushed into the prince’s office chambers at the end of the hall and paced fitfully, Draco was in a meeting with his father and advisors trying to finalize the arrangements for Nott's arrival in two day's time, and however much he had risen in the royal esteem, Harry was certain barging into the room and demaning an immediate audience would go over at all well.

So Harry paced back-and-forth impatiently until, finally, the door opened and Draco stepped into his room. The prince's surprise at his catamite's presence evident only the raising of a single brow as he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.

Draco waved a dismissive hand as he shrugged out of his overcloak. “Of course I do, how did you get here?”

“I ran very fast and flirted with your guards, but that’s not important right now,” Harry said, stepping forward and placing his hands on the prince’s shoulders. “How much do you trust me?”

“Emerald, I don’t understand.”

“If I said that I knew a way to convince Nott we have his kind of power and authority, what would you say?”

“I’d say that I’m open to suggestions,” Draco said, allowing the dark-haired youth to usher him towards the chair behind his desk.

“Lucius said he wanted everything above-board. He specified that he would present himself as the leader of the empire and that should be enough, and that he would tolerate no masquerade on your part either,” Harry said, only half a question.

“He does not wish to appear too desperate for the treaty. We don’t technically need the treaty with Nott, but it would certainly be beneficial. My father has no wish for a war at this time,” Draco explained.

“Yes, you’ve said,” Harry dismissed. The prince was amused as he watched his catamite pace back-and-forth in front of his desk. He had instructed Emerald, near the beginning of their relationship, that he was not to treat him as a prince, that he would always simply be ‘Draco’ to Emerald, unless they were before the court, at which time Emerald was to show the appropriate respect but otherwise alter no part of himself. It always pleased Draco when Emerald acted on that particular wish. “You don’t require a masquerade, however,” Harry elaborated, stopping at the centre of Draco’s desk and placed his hands on it, leaning forward. “He will respect you if he sees you have complete control over something dangerous, would he not?”

“I don’t follow,” Draco admitted.

“It’s one thing to be steeped in shady dealings. It’s another to completely avoid them. But what if you did not hide from those dealings. What if you already had control over the more dangerous aspects of politics, of life, of anything. Something dangerous, something alluring, something completely in your power?”

“I can see your point, and it’s valid. I cannot, however, see your plan.”

“That’s simple enough, so long as I have permission to alter a few lesser arrangements that have been delegated?” Harry asked formally.

“Of course,” Draco offered with a somewhat bemused quirk to his lips.

“And so long as you would not object to my presence at your side for certain appearances over the course of Nott’s stay, that it would be appropriate for a high prince to have an interest at his side.”

“You would have been there anyway, you know that,” Draco said. Harry had been seen more frequently at celebrations and ceremonies. Draco had discovered the youth had a knack for mingling, and he found that he very much enjoyed having Emerald by his side, whispering amusing commentary into his ear and poking him when he started to drift toward sleep.

“Then have no fear. The king will have himself a treaty,” Harry said.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked when the dark haired man turned to exit the rooms.

“To get my hands dirty,” Harry said with a grin.

“Very well, but I expect to find you naked and in my bed when I return to my chambers this evening.”

Harry grinned. “Mm. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

………………..

The entirety of the pier on the palace grounds were filled with people eager to be a part of the official reception of Theodor Nott. At the top of the palace steps, Draco stood by his father and mother beneath a sheer canopy supported by four servants, watching as the young king made his way forward along a path of silk and flowers. The sun beat down on the clustered members of court, glinting off jewels and bright fabrics.

Taking his eyes from Nott's slow procession, Draco scanned the crowds, glittering in the midday sun, and his eyes landed on Emerald, standing between Severus Snape and Blaise Zabini, with another concubine at his side as well as the servant Draco had bestowed on the youth at the very beginning. For a moment, grey eyes met green, and then Emerald winked at Draco before turning his gaze away.

Emerald had discussed many aspects of the weekend with him of course, and they had even playfully argued over some of the arrangements; but for the most part, Draco had let Emerald be and instead had taken-on the task of assuring his father that all was well in-hand and there was no need to fret or interfere. It had been a bit of a surprise, given the amount of work Emerald had put into alterations for the weekend, that the young catamite had insisted that he should not be present at Draco's side for Nott's arrival. Draco had no idea what his lover was planning, but he trusted him absolutely. Whatever Emerald had arranged, Draco believed that the boy knew what he was doing.

His attention was recalled as Nott made his way up the stairs and bowed slightly once to Draco's parents and then once to Draco himself. The usual greetings were exchanged, and Draco watched as Lucius welcomed Nott to the capital formally and, after the standard welcoming and introductions, the group proceeded into the palace.

According to the city’s tradition there was a brief welcoming lunch where Draco and Lucius dined with Nott and his chief advisor, as well as close friends and members of the royal court from both kingdoms. Nott’s other guests dined in a separate room with the nobles and lesser members of the court. Draco knew that Emerald had decided to avoid the other gathering, just like Narcissa had forgone hosting the second hall.

Following the lunch, Lucius adjourned to his library and Nott and his retinue retired to their rooms, leaving Draco with nothing to do until dinner. He idly toyed with the idea of visiting the harem and spending the afternoon with Emerald, but he had no idea what his dark-haired lover was up to. Emerald could very possibly be planning or preparing for the rest of the weekend and that was something Draco was loathe to interrupt. Instead, he retired to his private office, intending to study the treaty that they had been working on extensively for some time, hoping to further prepare.

The treaty had been created in two drafts, the original taking a far more powerful stance and making far more demands of Tharsis and of Nott himself. The second draft was a sort of compromise, it still had Nott and his country paying a fine tribute to the empire, but it gave back a considerable amount as well, more of an even trade than the first.

Draco had been of a mind to destroy the second treaty. The Edorean Empire had no business making arrangements with a single country as if they were meeting as complete equals. The empire, in the original draft, was still promising trade and protection as well as peace with Nott and that was all that should be expected of them. Lucius, however, was favoring the second treaty, not having high hopes about bargaining with Nott, and wanting peace because he did not wish to risk war.

Intending to find some compromise between the two extremely different documents, Draco entered his office in deep thought, all of which were immediately halted when he opened his door and discovered a completely naked Emerald lying sprawled on his desk.

“I thought I told you to trust me?” Emerald asked idly.

“You’re very lucky that I didn’t send one of my advisors in here to fetch me the treaty,” Draco quipped, but he was so relieved to have an excuse to not think about politics.

“You wouldn’t have, I know you too well. You forget that you told me to have the entire weekend planned, and that’s exactly what I’ve done,” Emerald said, rising to sit on the desk as Draco paced closer.

“But I didn’t know I would be coming here until just after lunch,” Draco said, sighing as Emerald lowered his pert mouth to nip and suckle along his neck, fingers already prying his vest and tunic off.

“A good host,” Emerald said in between nips and licks, “knows everything that will occur over the course of their event – every thought, every desire; even before anyone is even aware of what they are wanting – so that he can be prepared to meet the need.”

“Mine better be the only need you’re meeting,” Draco said, head thrown back as Emerald worked the erection he had freed from the blonde’s pants.

“Your need, and the need of the empire.”

“Hm,” Draco sighed. “My good little ruler.”

……………………..

When Draco had entrusted the arrangements for Nott's visit to Emerald, he had not known what to expect. Of course, his father had likely been kept abreast of the particulars, but Draco had been infuriatingly left in the dark, and so many times he was forced to remain impassive and aloof when what he felt was both impressed and proud.

Every aspect of the visiting king's visit had been carefully considered, it seemed, right down to the meals that were served, all specialities of the region, and as decadent as they were delectable. From the moment Nott stepped off his ship he had been swept away by the pure splendor of the Edorean Empire. Emerald had even restricted traffic through the city, and especially the market, so that when Draco invited Nott on a tour of Agathe order reigned supreme. Everywhere there were lavish signs of prosperity and opulence, and everyone, from the nobles who joined the nightly feats at the palace, to the servants and the citizens of the city were as full of honest good cheer as if it were a feast day, though the prince was not sure just what his catamite had done to elicit such goodwill.

Draco had become accustomed to the feeling of surprise, so much so that as he entered the Great Hall to take his place on the four thrones set upon the dais, he managed not to hesitate at how the room, typically filled with dark marble and accented with gold and ivory and rich jewels that glittered in the light, has been altered. Gone were the seats along both sides of the hall for nobles and advisors, in fact, most of the clutter had been emptied from the room, leaving only a few statues along the walls, behind the elaborate pillars, a long silken runner leading up to the steps on which the thrones were perched, and a single, smaller seat undoubtedly intended for Nott facing the dais, and surrounded by cushions, which Draco assumed were there to accomodate the visiting king's advisors. The guards that typically stood along the walls and at each of the entrances had been doubled, and were clad in full parade dress, complete with shining spears, and stood stoically, maintaining silent vigil.

As Draco settled onto his throne he noted that both of his parents were wearing their less formal crowns, despite being dressed finely. His mother in particular, clad in a slim-fitting shift dress whose deep purple color made her pale hair glow, was wearing more accessories than Draco had seen on her in some years; jewled silver bands and bracelets, to go with her jewled sandals, and necklace. Draco himself had selected his simplest crown: a gold circlet diadem with fine carvings, which could not be seen clearly at any great distance.

However subdued his clothes were, and regardless of carefully maintained attitude of collected aloofness, Draco could not help but wonder at the two, rather sizable, tigers reclining at his feet. There, as far as he could tell, no animal handlers in the hall, which was odd, but he supposed that the guards must have been selected for their ability to also handle the beasts, otherwise he was certain than Emerald had lost his mind.

When Nott and his retinue arrived in the hall, they were dressed in black and glowered darkly at everything, but especially at the seating arrangements. They sat in silence as Lucius made his opening remarks, and Nott himself kept his commentary brief.

Draco sat back and listened to it all, hopelessly bored by the ceremony of it and wondering what on earth Emerald could have concocted to loosen-up the young king who sat, tense and uncomfortable on the small throne. Beside Draco's throne, one of the tigers rose to a seated position and he risked a light scratch of the beast’s head. All the animals had been tamed, but that didn’t mean that sometimes one didn’t get out of hand. Still, the tiger merely tilted its head and so Draco scratched a bit harder.

Lucius waved Blaise Zabini forward and called for the treaty, which meant that there was a stretch of awkward staring as Blaise left the hall and Nott seemed disinclined to speak. Draco amused himself with his tiger and felt a little bit smug when he caught the somewhat astonished gaze of Theodor Nott. It occured to Draco then, in a way it simply hadn't before, that Nott was his age. He had likely been confident in a few more years at least of learning before assuming the throne of his country, Draco felt a shockingly strong bout of empathy that he crushed by assuring himself that whenever the day came that he should assume the throne of the empire, he would never put on airs like Nott did, he would back every action with very real power.

A moment later, the curtains that blocked the entrance behind the thrones were brushed aside and Emerald himself appeared. Draco didn’t at first see his lover, but he saw the expression on Nott’s face and thought he might have suddenly understood what his dark-haired lover had said when he had mentioned the night before that a man would do anything for a pretty face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched as Emerald approached Lucius, bowing low and presenting the treaty. Draco noted, with an increasing interest, that document his lover presented was the original form of the treaty, and yet Lucius did not seem inclined to correct the error. Draco began to realize that he had not been the only one placating Lucius Malfoy about the coming weekend, that perhaps Emerald had kept him abreast of the changes and that Lucius had perhaps finally been swayed into believing what Draco had been trying to explain from the start.

With a seemingly careless wave, Lucius motioned Emerald up and as the dark-haired young man stepped down from the dais, Draco finally took-in his lover's appearance. He wore soft, dark red pants that hung low on his hips and accentuated his arse, a very fine feature, in Draco’s opinion. In lieu of a shirt, Emerald wore a dark vest, left open to expose a hennaed tattoo about his navel. There were gold bands on his wrists and one around his throat, and on his head, the thin Consort's crown, faintly glowing. Emerald's lips were glossed and his eyes darkly kohled, and about his body was wrapped a rather large snake that hissed happily and seemed quite content to coil around the warm body.

Draco watched as his lover, alluring and exotic, knelt before Nott and offered the treaty. There was a stretch of time where where Theodor did not move, and took Draco a moment to realize that the young king was kept still not out of anger or arrogance, but rather had fallen victim Emerald. Finally, Nott accepted the treaty and Emerald rose, re-climbing the stairs to settle in the smaller throne to Draco’s right where he reclined quite casually and seductively.

As Lucius began to outline the treaty, Draco watched in amusement as Nott stared fixedly at Emerald. He tried very hard to contain a snort of laughter as the snake, which was moving about on his lover's tanned skin, hissed against Emerald’s throat and the boy tilted slightly, as if accepting the caress of a lover.

Four points of the treaty had been accepted, and Lucius was presenting the issue of the price of tribute that would be given yearly to the empire, and while Nott’s advisors turned startled, helpless eyes from the ruler of Edorea, to their own king, to the boy who had captivated their king’s attention, they watched as their country agreed to become yet another subject of the empire.

Nott's palette had been whet with rich foods, bold and elegant architecture, tours of the grand city, its large library and historic sites and monuments, with a sampling of the pleasures of the flesh; he had been dazzled by a king and queen who seemed aloof and unmoved by the wealth and power they wielded, as if it were common, as if it were nothing. He’d been impressed with the prince’s intellect and ideas and decorum; and now he was solidly seduced by an imp of a boy who wore a crown and a snake and looked like sin.

Draco stretched his hand over the armrest of his throne and rested it lightly on Emerald’s arm, stroking slightly, and Nott saw the possessive gesture. Saw how the mysterious youth with dark hair leaned his head towards the prince and whispered something that caused the set mouth to quirk slightly in amusement, a promise on the lips of a lover. With a quick flourish of a quill, Nott placed his name at the bottom of the treaty, and bowed low to the figures perched on the thrones.

When Nott and his advisors had once again retired to their chambers, Lucius turned to his son and nodded simply. As the four of them rose, Draco turned to Emerald, squeezing the hand he had grabbed a hold of, wanting to laugh and celebrate but not being able to do so in front of his parents and the guards. He motioned for them to retire but Lucius stopped them. Standing in front of Emerald he reach forward and lightly touched the gold circlet on Emerald’s head. He smiled slightly in aristocratic amusement, and said “It suits you.”


	6. Though It Grieve Me Much to Say

Agathe, the capital of the Edorean Empire, was everywhere cluttered with bright pennants and overrun with people as the city was prepared for the yearly celebration of Tribute.

In the dining hall of the palace, visiting dignitaries sipped wine and traded gossip with the members of the Empire's court, the constant hum of their voices blurring and filling the room with a bustling warmth. Seated at a table near to the head table, Fra Salto, an ambassador from Sivan, one of the Empire's more powerful allies, turned from where he had been watching the head table to comment to Blaise, “He is most beautiful.”

Blaise followed Fra Salto’s gaze up to where Emerald sat between Draco and Severus Snape. Since Nott had visited the sight of the dark-headed youth seated at the head table conversing with the royal family had become a common one, but Blaise was still fascinated by it. Emerald had more than proved that he was as skilled a socialite as he was a tactician.

As the watched, the prince whispered something to his companion that prompted a wide grin to creep onto Emerald's face before he tipped his head back and laughed, rich and honest, and clear. “He is,” Blaise agreed, his gaze lingering even as the ambassador was drawn away into discussion. The king whispered something to his wife, and then turned and spoke something to Emerald, the younger man's head tilting slightly to hear better as he responded, the prince nodding in accordance with the exchange. As one, the royal family rose to their feet causing the rest of the hall to hurriedly drop put aside their wine goblets and drop into respectful bow.

Blaise risked a further peak from his bow to see Draco reach a hand forward, succeessfully snagging the edge of Emerald's cloak and tugging just light enough to be noticed. Emerald turned from where he had been following Severus through the doors and fell into step beside the prince, following the king and queen through the back doors that led to the royal chambers. That as well was something Blaise had seen with increasingly frequency, to the point that he wondered whether Emerald had need of a room in the harem at all anymore. It was surely only a matter of time before the gold Consort’s circlet that Emerald wore for special occasions and ceremonies would be a permanent presence on the young man’s head.

………………………….

Sprawled across the rumpled sheets of his four-poster, the prince extended a lazy arm and beckoned, “Emerald, come here to me.” Emerald turned away from the maps he was studying, clutching a half-eaten apple in one hand, and smiled. He obeyed the request without comment, sitting casually by Draco's hip, not bothering to adjust his robe as the green silk fell open to reveal his chest. “You’ll be there tomorrow,” Draco said, not so much an order as a statement, one hand raising so he could tangle his fingers in soft, dark tousled hair.

“How could I not be?” Harry said, tilting his head back obligingly. “Our anniversary,” he teased.

“Hm. This time last year you were tied to a pole and half-starved. Probably with lice in your hair,” Draco shot back.

“I didn’t have lice in my hair.”

“It’s not our anniversary exactly,” Draco continued as if Harry hadn’t said a word. “It’s Tribute. We weren’t really together until at least two weeks later.”

Harry rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed trusting Draco to catch him, which he did, and Harry stretched out over the prince and relished the feeling of fingers in his hair as he stared up at the ceiling. “I was yours the moment you laid eyes on me. I saw it in your eyes the instant you decided it.”

“I did decide it that quickly,” Draco agreed. The prince's casual acceptance of the tease made Harry fall silent. He liked to tease the arrogant blond, but he was always conscious of the difference in their status, and of their history together. For his part, Draco never seemed tense or suspicious when they talked or joked, and he greatly encouraged Harry to be familiar and casual with him, but Harry could not allow himself to relax around the prince. No matter their intimacy or their banter, Harry always knew that it was a tenuous facade; they were not lovers or good friends, but were always still separated by a great chasm. Draco was the High Prince, and Harry was a catamite, a servant of pleasure. However much hr liked to believe they were in love, Harry knew better. Love was a weakness, and in this tenuous game he was playing, it could very well destroy him.

Only lately, it was becoming harder for him to maintain that distance. There was a stubborn part in him that wanted every moment he shared with the prince to be real, that refused to dismiss what he felt as a charade and knew with absolute certainty that he loved the other man, even if he hated to admit it.

“How can you possibly be thinking so hard already?” Draco asked as he lazily stroked Harry’s hair. “I’m exhausted. We’ve not made love like that in a good while, and today was a long day.”

“Made love,” Harry echoed quietly.

“You can’t want to do it again already?” Draco asked, then sighed in a put-upon, long-suffering sort of way. “Well, give me a moment.”

“Draco,” Harry said, and twisted himself so he was leaning on his propped elbow, his chest pressing closely to that of the prince.

“What is it?” Draco said, turning serious as he stroked a gentle finger down Harry’s cheek.

Harry had so many things he wanted to say in that moment. He wanted to tell the prince who he was, that he was a poor farmer named Harry who had led a rebellion that would have crippled the empire. A lost young orphan who missed his friends and hated the dark looks and whispered words he knew haunted his steps whenever he went about his daily routine in the harem. So much would have spilled from his lips if he only opened them, so Harry pressed them closely to Draco’s and spilled his words into the prince’s mouth; expressed everything in a kiss. Draco didn’t feel quite so exhausted after that, but Harry felt more alone than he ever had.

………………………….

“When I am king,” Draco said with that aristocratic air he always adopted when he spoke of such times to come. “I will do away with this infernal ceremony.”

“Sip your wine, Prince,” Harry whispered back as they watched yet another dance performed as the ambassador of whatever place was currently paying homage stepped forward to place his gifts at the feet of the royals. “We can re-enact our first night later.” That seemed to settle Draco just fine, and he turned back to the proceedings with a regal, albeit impatient expression.

Harry, quite opposite to the prince, found he absolutely loved Tribute. He was seated on a small throne on Draco’s right, the Consort’s crown on his head and everywhere around him were people laughing and enjoying themselves; the Grand Hall was filled with people come to pay their respects to the empire on which they were dependent for safety, for prosperity, for support.

Harry knew that just one year ago he would have had quite a different reaction to the lavish affair. His small country home was the source of the herbs that the empire’s healers, the best in the world, used to make poultices and remedies; they were the largest supply of grains and vegetables that kept the people of the empire fed. It was their pottery that was traded for supplies on which the empire was dependent. In exchange, the empire seemed all too eager to forget Brucandis even existed. Located as it was on the edge of the Empire, Brucandis had been raided twice in one year alone and the empire’s promised guards never came. They were given poor return for the considerable amount they handed over yearly and any protection the city had was cobbled together by the populous, without any financial or physical support from their king. It was disgraceful.

Now, Harry watched gold and silver, diamonds and precious stones, fine jewellery and expensive fabrics, bourn by the careful hands of humble allies of the empire, foreigners who received more in return than Brucandis could dream of, make their way through the ivory hall in which he was seated on a throne of gold. With a certain amount of satisfaction, he watched all those offerings exchange hands and join the steady procession of goods from the hall into a safe chamber. He watched it all confident in the knowledge that it had taken him a single night to convince the High Prince to distribute a fair portion of that wealth to those cities on the outskirts of the empire that had been so poorly neglected. It was not coincidence that Brucandis was set to receive the finest shipment of them all.

“Another concubine,” Draco huffed, recalling Harry from his thoughts as an elaborately clad girl left the safety of the guards who had escorted her to the dais and placed a kiss on Lucius Malfoy’s feet before she shuffled right and dropped another kiss on Draco’s; Harry ignored the lick of jealous anger that raced through him. He had been spoiled, Draco had taken no one but Harry to his bed for an entire year, and the prince had taken him quite frequently. “They ought to know better,” Draco was saying as the girl was waved away by an imperious looking Severus Snape, no doubt to be settled into the harem. “Everyone knows the harem has been quiet this year.”

Harry showed no reaction to the Prince’s words. Nor did he react when the prince slipped a possessive hand about him as the ceremony continued. Inside, however, Harry could not have been happier. He smiled softly at Draco when the prince stroked his palm, and they sat together watching slaves and finery pass by them, neither caring, both just counting the minutes until they could leave the hall and slip away to Draco’s chambers.

………………..

“Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy said softly as she followed Lucius out of the Grand Hall via the private entrance behind their thrones. “Your father and I wish to have a word.”

Draco nodded but did not relinquish his hold of Harry’s hand, so Harry was obliged to follow the prince to the small chamber that Lucius and Narcissa had disappeared to. “We won’t be a moment,” Narcissa said to Harry as he was led into the room.

“Of course,” he said, and bowed as he stepped back out of the room.

“They left you all to yourself?” Severus drawled. Harry turned to see the man looming spectre-like in the hallway. He had long-since learned to ignore the presence of the guards, they never spoke unless addressed directly and they kept secrets well, quite unlike the palace servants who gossiped more than Harry’s aunt had done at one of her social teas.

“Severus,” Harry greeted with a smile. “The belle of the ball, as usual. You lit up the room.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow and smoothed his robes meticulously. “Black is my colour,” he stated simply in response to the tease. “Impudent Whelp,” he added.

“Did you come to keep me company?”

“I came to make certain you did not get into mischief,” Severus drawled, which Harry knew meant the man had been worried and was thus acting as Harry’s personal bodyguard. It was a bit much, since Harry knew that Finch-Fletchley was haunting these halls, as well as two other trained men who were likewise charged with the task of keeping Harry in one piece.

“I’m not going to steal the Tribute, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” Harry joked. He had learned it was easier if he did not draw attention to his friend’s overprotective nature.

“Indeed I have heard a rumour that you do not need to steal at all,” Severus said.

“Not when you and the prince take care of me so very well,” Harry answered smoothly.

“I was referring to the rumour of the small fleet that are, as we speak, being loaded with goods, with orders to sail to the far corners of the empire bearing great gifts.”

“I know little of politics,” Harry dismissed with a wave. “But that sounds like the prince’s doing.” From the look Severus gave him Harry knew the man was not fooled, but he didn’t mind, Severus was nothing if not devoted.

……………………

“Father, mother,” Draco said. He did not take the seat his mother gestured to, preferring to stand by the door in the hope that his parents might realize he did not intend to linger.

“Draco,” Narcissa sighed and interlocked her fingers after smoothing down her skirt over her legs. “Draco, you have been spending a good deal of time with that catamite,” she began.

“If this is another tirade about taking a Consort, and a female one at that, then I’m going to leave right now at this very moment because I’ve heard it all before and it’s not going to change my mind to hear it once more,” Draco retorted.

“It’s not that, Sweetheart,” Narcissa said. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

“What is it, then?” Draco asked, still wary.

“This past year I have tried very hard to accept what seems to be your decision,” she said. “You’ve spent so much time with that boy.”

“His name is Emerald.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said, but did not correct herself. “You’ve been different, Draco. Someone else.”

“I thought it was an improvement,” Draco interjected. “I’ve been present at all of your infernal gatherings, and on my best behaviour. I’ve taken interest in the running of the palace and upheld my responsibilities.”

“You’ve been doing a wonderful job, Draco,” Lucius said.

“I’m not complaining about that,” Narcissa said. “I’m not complaining at all, in fact. You’ve done such a wonderful job, especially these last few weeks when your father’s been ill. I’ve realized where your heart is. I can see you want so very much to name that boy Consort.”

Draco pulled himself up straighter, prepared for a fight. He knew how his mother felt about this, knew where the conversation was undoubtedly going and he refused to be budged. “I know you understand how I feel,” Narcissa said. “A king needs to have heirs, Draco. He needs offspring in order to protect his kingdom; that is one of the most important duties of a good king. I don’t,” she said hastily, holding up a hand, “I don’t wish to argue this point. What I am saying is, I will keep silent and in fact, offer my full support of you and that boy, even if you do make him Consort.”

“What?” Draco asked, when she broke off. “What is it?”

“I will do all that,” Narcissa continued. “If you will do for me one small favour.”

“What is it?” he repeated reluctantly.

“Take someone else to your bed tonight, Draco,” Narcissa said. “Take a concubine to your chambers. Spend one night with a woman.”

“Why?” Draco asked. “What’s the point? I’ve made my decision, I won’t change it.”

“You don’t know that,” Narcissa interrupted, her tone revealed the desperation she was attempting to hold back. It made Draco’s heart break; he wanted so very much to please his parents. “It’s been a year. Maybe it’s worked out of your system, whatever this is,” she gestured to him in a general sort of way. “Maybe you’ll find you feel different. If you don’t,” she hastened to add. “If you don’t, then I will welcome that boy, Emerald, I will welcome Emerald happily. I will know it’s what you truly want and that he makes you happy, and that’s what I want, for you to be happy.”

“Why can’t you just accept it now?” Draco asked.

“I’m not ready to let go of the thought that you might be still be happy with a proper Consort,” Narcissa said. “With stability.”

“Father,” Draco said, appealing to the man who had stood by him without fail. When he met his father’s eyes, however, he saw only exhaustion in them. Lucius had put so much effort into soothing his wife’s fears, into running the empire, into raising Draco to be a fine prince and a better king. He was still weak from his illness and he looked tired.

“It’s your decision, Draco,” Lucius said.

“Please,” Narcissa said, “One night, to put my fears at ease.”

……………………

From his bedroom window Harry watched Luna Lovegood, a new addition to the harem, make her way down the balcony pathway that for one whole year had been Harry’s alone to walk. She wore white, with a sheer white veil covering her pale hair, like a bride meeting her husband in their wedding chambers.

Of course, Draco had explained Narcissa’s proposition, that open support from the queen for any decision that the prince may or may not be thinking of making would be beneficial; would go a long way in increasing the confidence of the people in their prince. Harry even understood what Draco hadn't been quite able to put into words: he longed to make his mother proud and could not bear the notion that any choice he might make could cause her grief and that it was his sense of duty as a son more than anything else that had influenced Draco to agree. Harry had nodded, had even managed a reasurring touch of the prince's arm and a light kiss pressed just at the very corner of Draco's lips that, perhaps, might still belong only to Harry. Severus had escorted him back to his chambers, and bowed just slightly when Harry had dismissed everyone from his rooms and then shut the door in their faces. The lights were off in his chambers, and he watched her walk.

Love was not something that Harry could afford; it cost too much and cut too deeply. He had fought so very hard against this one thing, this one flaw in his plan, but somehow his goal had shifted. He’d forgotten about the promise he had made to himself on that first day when Draco had ordered him cleaned and fed, and then added that the servants should lock his chains good and tight. Laying there in the depths of that rocking ship he promised himself that he would be free, and he would rescue his friends, no matter the cost. He could not think of when it was precisely that he had stopped wanting his freedom, wasn't even certain there was a precise moment, though perhaps there must have been. Regardless, he found himself thinking that he would endure any of the chains that Draco chose to place on him so long as the blond would hold him close.

Harry had lived one year in a fantasy. Catamites were a dime a dozen, and so easy to cast aside. Now he watched a pretty virgin walk through his garden, run her hand over his rail, and proceed down his path. She was on borrowed ground. How long before she owned that path?

This had been how Pansy Parkinson felt when the guards had come to her rooms and ordered her to pack her belongings. This was the exact tearing sensation that lanced through her gut as she watched a ruffled little boy make himself at home in her rooms, in her harem. It had taken Harry one night to win the prince’s favour, and one night to lose it again.

In his rooms, Harry ran his fingers over the ornate ivory dagger that Draco had gifted to him, a traditional gift between two nobles engaged to be wed, and he watched her walk.

………………………

The body of Luna Lovegood was found the following morning. Apparently, she had not even made it back to her own rooms before she was attacked; her pretty pale throat cut, her white robes stained, she floated like a sea nymph in the pool into which she had toppled. She had been dead before she had even hit the water.

On the walkway that linked the prince’s quarters to the harem there was found an ornate ivory dagger that the prince, pale and shaken, recognized immediately. He shared a panicked look with Severus Snape, both of them stunned and horrified both knowing the ramifications, but not certain how to put an end to it, the wheels had already been set in motion.

By noon the order was given despite the efforts of those within the palace who fought hard to prevent it. Five minutes later, there was a pounding at Emerald’s door, though the men who knocked did not pause for a reply. The wheels spun on.

…………………..

It was perhaps entirely improper to enter the High Prince's personal chambers, scroll clutched in a hand held high and waving above one's head, shouting loudly and enthusiastically, but Blaise had grown-up with Draco, had learned, even, to hoark spit-balls with the prince, and so he did not think it warranted the scathing glare the royal guards who stood sentry by Draco's rooms cast his way before he slammed the door in their faces.

“He's submitted a petition!” Blaise repeated, expecting his triumphal cry to be met with somewhat more enthusiasm than it was. He barely ducked the paperweight that sailed by him, crashing into the opposite wall and shattering into a glitter of tiny crystaline pieces. “Draco?”

“Much good it will do him,” Draco sneered, before running both hands through his already mussed hair. Blaise' began to feel his optimism fade. His friend stood before him, grey circles under his eyes, hair mussed and clothing askew. Several trays of food had been relegated to the far table and were balancing precariously on a table-top too small to hold them. Blaise wondered if Draco had even eaten any of it. “My father dismissed it.”

“But,” Blaise protested, more because he had been certain this would be the thing that would save Emerald from the horrible misunderstanding, “This petition is addressed to you.”

Draco shook his head and turned back to his desk, re-organizing the parchment there, Blaise suspected, merely so he would not have to meet his friend's gaze. “A murder in the Royal Harem? It's out of my authority, you know my father as king must have final word.”

“Final word, yes. That does not mean that you shouldn't say anything at all!”

“What makes you think I didn't try?” Draco shouted, his glare cold and biting and shocking to Blaise in its ferocity. “My mother,” Draco continued, his voice quiet but tinged with a bitter bite. “Suggested that perhaps my judgement was not entirely impartial, given my close relation to … to the accused.”

“Call him Emerald,” Blaise ordered. “And how could your mother do such a thing? Can't she see what Pansy has done?”

“Perhaps she does not want to. Blaise, she wants for me what she could never have herself. A wife could give the Empire lots of heirs, could offer stability and security.”

“The kingdom could have those things irregardless of who you married, or whether you married at all. It's only scary because it's change!”

“Change can be for the good or the bad. Regardless, my father dismissed my appeal.”

“Then I'll make the appeal on your behalf. An impartial mediator.”

Draco let out a short laugh and shook his head. “He dismissed everyone but his own select advisors from the room when it became clear that perhaps some were being unduly influenced by an external source.” Blaise patiently waited through Draco's sheepish glance and was rewarded with a slight elaboration. “I may have had Montague say a few things.”

Blaise rolled his eyes heavenward, “By which you mean you wrote a few things down and made the poor man memorize it all, don't you?”

“I speak better publicly than he does. I'm better at forming an argument. My father needs to be spoken to a certain way,” Draco immediately defended so swiftly that Blaise was reminded of the hot-heated, spoiled little boy who had been his friend, before court etiquette lessons with tutors and gruelling sessions about tactics and strategies had smoothed that impulsive, impetuous child into a respectable member of the royal family.

The light-heartedness drifted away as Blaise attempted to come to terms with what he was being told. “There must still be something else. Some way to help.”

“Blaise,” Draco said, his expression utterly serious. “My father told me that in this matter I was incapable of being impartial. He promised me that he would hear the matter as openly as he could, but that is the best that we can hope for.”

“So your father can be impartial, with your mother whispering in his ear and Pansy whispering in hers, but you cannot?”

“I hope so.”

…………………..

Harry rose from his spot on the bed when his cell door was opened, surprised when a veiled woman in green entered. He had been expecting Severus or Blaise, or perhaps even the prince making a grand entrance and dragging him out of the dull chambers in which he had been locked. He had not, however, expected Pansy Parkinson.

“Leave us,” Pansy ordered her eyes not wavering from where they kept Harry pinned. With an abrupt nod the guard stepped out of the chambers, closing the door behind him. “Don’t look so surprised, precious Emerald.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry hissed. “You’ve got what you wanted.

Pansy smiled a small pained smile. She crossed to stand before him and, expression almost fondly exasperated, raised a hand and caressed his cheek. “My poor little Emerald,” she said, in such a soft voice she almost sounded as if she were truly regretful. “You mustn’t take this personally.”

“Get out.”

“Every story needs a villain.”

“I’ve had more than my share of villains,” Harry snapped. “Ever since I came to the palace you have wanted me gone. Well, congratulations. Your cunning has finally won you your wish.”

“It was easy,” Pansy said, her tone becoming smooth and dark and giddy. She stepped away from him to survey the small chamber, fingertips running along the rough wood desk, the worn bedlinens. “Once I realized one simple little thing,” she glanced back at him, her blue eyes bright and laughing.

“What?” Harry found himself asking, found himself needing to know the answer, to understand why she had done what she had. Warfare he understood, and politics, but such subtle manipulation, such conniving plotting was beyond anything Harry had ever before encountered.

“You and I,” Pansy said. “We are the same.”

“We aren’t anything the same.”

“That night, I watched from my new rooms on the ground floor of the harem. Watched you walk across the bridge towards his chamber. I wanted nothing more than to crush you with my bare hands,” Pansy admitted. “You watched, and wanted to slit her throat. You should be thanking me.”

“You make me sick.”

Pansy smirked and shook her head. “I saw you that night. What else were you mooning over when you handled that dagger?”

“I was thinking about Draco!” Harry shouted. “I was thinking about what he promised me when he gave me that dagger. But you! You took something pure and you tainted it!”

“I showed you what the promises of a conceited prince mean! ” She stalked toward him, her expression sneering. “You have everyone fooled, little Emerald. You would have played the game, and you would have won. High Consort,” she hissed. “It would have been lovely. But you fucked up, little Catamite. You lost your head and so you were eaten alive. Like puppets on a string you made them dance for you. Don’t think I never noticed.”

“Get away from me,” Harry ordered quietly, because Pansy was pressing close to him again, and her closeness as much as her words made his stomach snarl.

“The prince, that whore Thomas, the prince’s own advisor. Even Severus. Even the king. All you had to do was flick your wrist and they performed for you. That is power, little Emerald; that, more so than plans and politics; you were more powerful than a king, because you controlled a king. You thought you had it all mastered.” She shook her head and ‘tsked’. “Know thine enemy,” Pansy said. “Plots like yours are masterful, but they break apart so very easily with just the smallest mistake. You love him,” she said, with a sort of amused triumph. “It’s so very … touching. He doesn’t love you, of course, but still, it was always so very moving to see you jump like a puppy to fulfil his every wish. All it took was a very subdued tea with the queen. You never quite had her in the palm of your hand … but I did.”

Fists clenched at his side, Harry found himself gritting out, “It wasn’t a game.”

“Wasn’t it?” Pansy asked. “But you played it so well.”

“Then you win,” Harry said. “You have it all. All the time in the world and not a single thing standing in your way. So woo the prince and take your kingdom; that’s what you wanted. A golden crown for you fat head.”

“But you see, little Emerald,” Pansy said, shaking her head sadly as she paced closer once more. “I don’t have it all. There is something standing in my way, even now.”

“What? What else could there possibly be?”

“You.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m locked away in prison! How could I affect your pathetic little quest?”

She leaned forward, her breath ghosting across Harry's ear. “As long as you live, Emerald,” Pansy whispered. “You will always be in my way.”

………………………..

“What do you propose I do about this?” Blaise hissed, his hands braced on his desk as he glared at the man pacing in his office. “I have the prince’s ear, you know that. This matter is not in the prince's control. This is the king!”

“This is the queen, and you know it,” Severus snarled.

“All the more reason,” Blaise said. “It is done, Severus.”

Severus turned in a whirl of dark robes. “It is not done!”

“Yes, it is,” Blaise said sadly and held out a parchment.

Severus stormed forward, snatching the page hastily and reading it over, his expression darkening. “There was no trial!” Severus shouted, tossing the page back onto Blaise' desk. “It has been a mere three days!”

“You know better than anyone that the only decision that matters is that of the king. There was no need of a trial. The situation was quite clear.”

“Your impartial arguments unnerve me,” Severus said as he rubbed his brow.

“Rather I be cool-headed so that I can be clear as well,” Blaise countered. “He submitted a petition.”

“Good boy.”

“It was ignored.”

“How could Draco do such a thing?”

“It is as much out of his hands as it is out of ours.”

With a dark sigh Severus turned toward the door, his expression full of disappointment and defeat. “He is not the man I had envisioned him to be.”

“He fought as hard as he could, Severus,” Blaise countered, as the other man reached the door.

“If he has already given-up then he did not fight with much force,” Severus said sombrely before closing the door with a quiet ‘click’. Inside the small office, Blaise shrieked in fettered rage and hurled the clutter off his desk.

…………………….

“Emerald of Brucandis, you have been judged and found guilty of the murder of concubine Luna Lovegood. This is the sentence of the court: your title is void; your belongings shall be distributed among the men and women of the harem. You will remain in this cell without food or drink until you die; but the king is merciful, he will allow you to take your own life by whatever means if you so choose.”

The man stood in the small chamber, his bulk blocking the natural light that leaked in from the hallway beyond. He read the words from an unrolled parchment and not once did he raise his eyes from the page. Harry had spent three days in his chamber in the prison; even if the room was furnished well, with a bed and even a small desk for writing, it was three days of desperate uncertainty, constantly wondering about his fate, desperate for any news.

Now, he stood in the center of his little room and could hardly understand what he had just been told. “But,” Harry managed when he found his voice. “I submitted a petition to the prince. Didn’t he receive it?” The man rolled the parchment and tucked it away before briskly waving a hand. Five other men, equally impressive in stature pushed into Harry’s chamber and began to remove the furnishings.

Harry swallowed thickly as he watched the missionary bed carted out, followed by the bedding and the rug that covered the floor. “Didn’t Draco read it?” he asked quietly.

The small desk, then the chair, followed by the lamp.

“No!” Harry cried, his voice cracking as he panicked, lunging desperately at the lamp in the man’s arms. “Not the lamp! I cannot endure the night without it! Please! I cannot die in darkness!” he begged, but he was shoved roughly to the floor.

Harry felt numb. Four days ago he had been sitting in an ivory room wearing the Consort’s crown and holding the hand of the High Prince. Four days.

He did not feel his nakedness as the linen was torn from his body. He stood still and quiet as the men took everything, as they cleared away the two meagre bowls, one of water, one of soup, then shut the heavy door and took the sunlight as well.

…………………….

Draco sat at the high table watching the men and women gathered around him dine and laugh, sipping wine and biting into fresh meat, plucking plump grapes out of the silver serving bowls. Draco sipped from his goblet, but even looking down at the plate that had been set in front of him made him queasy and so he did not eat.

“It’s just a dizzy spell,” Lucius said, dismissing his wife's concerns as he rose from the table. He dropped a warm hand to Draco's shoulders. “I’ll retire now, Draco,” he said and squeezed gently.

“Goodnight, father,” Draco answered. When the king and queen had exited the hall, Draco turned to Severus who, seated as he had been beside Narcissa, was now separated from Draco by two empty places. “Are you going to ignore me?”

“My Lord,” Severus responded, and bowed his head respectfully, not turning from where he was surveying the guests.

Draco looked down to where his hands were carefully placed on the table, resting on either side of his plate, and then sighed. “The evidence was there,” he said. “It was irrefutable, my mother even supported the account. No one was with him that night, I had no proof to offer in his defence save that I … that I …”

“Your father made a decision,” Severus said, not looking at Draco. The blond noted that the man had not touched his meal or his goblet. “You have made your decision as well.”

“I fought for him.”

Severus' dark black eyes met Draco's gaze with shattering intensity. “He is not dead yet,” he bit out, each word sharply clipped.

“Father was firm in this,” Draco admitted quietly. “I tried, Sev.” With effort, Draco held his tears because the banquet hall was not the place for them.

Severus dropped his head slightly, his dark hair obscuring his expression. “I am your father’s most loyal servant,” he said in a voice soft and quiet so no one could hear him over the din of the hall. “I have known you since you were a child, so permit me to address you plainly.”

“Of course.”

Severus turned to him then, his dark eyes filled with anguish and rage. “You are a spoiled little boy, Draco; a spoiled little boy who has no real convictions. If you were a general of an army your men would eat you alive. Your father raised you to be a king, and a fine one at that. This is your failing. You are the High Prince of this empire. God forbid you should be made king before you learn this lesson, because then you will be ruler of a ruin.” Draco couldn’t find his voice to deliver an appropriate retort, even if he there had been one to give, and before he could master his own reaction to the words, Severus bowed low and left quickly.

…………………….

It began, and now it would end with the pain of starvation, of dehydration.

No one would come. Not to bring water to wet his lips, not to bring a covering to keep the cold away; not even a face, however hostile, to ameliorate the loneliness of dying.

How long could a body live without water? Without food? Did you go mad first? Harry didn’t know. His feet and hands were swollen and the guards were deaf to his increasing frenzy. He wondered how much time had passed, three days? Four? A month? A century? There was nothing to pass the time save bouts of delirium, of desolation; nothing but the violent protests of a young and healthy body in the process of extermination.

His story was told.


	7. Water and Wine

The shaking, shivering gasp was painful to hear and almost certainly more painful to experience. Draco fought hard to keep the tears from his eyes as he clutched the thin pale hand in his own, clasping it tightly. “I am so very sorry, Draco,” the soft voice said. Another breath, Draco brought the hand to his lips and kissed it, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain he was experiencing. “If it could all be undone.”

“Don’t,” Draco pleaded, unable to think of it all at once. In such a short time his father had gone from the proud king to this: an ailing, fragile man. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was so close to death that Draco could almost feel the great god Aneniel waiting patiently to welcome the new addition to the Hall of the Kings. “Please,” Draco pleaded, his voice hoarse and his tears falling freely.

“When you are king, you will not make such a mistake. You will always think before you act, so that the innocent do not suffer. You will not make the mistakes that I have made.”

“I promise, father,” Draco said. “Please,” he begged, but was unsure what it was he wanted, there were so many wishes he would make that he hardly knew which one to speak first.

“Trust your instincts always,” Lucius said. “They have never led you astray. I am sorry for failing you, for taking from you what you most desired. You have been like a wraith these passed days.”

“Father, be well.” He wanted nothing more than to crumple down onto the bed and weep and beg and cling to his father like a small and frightened child because Draco had rarely felt so wrecked and afraid in his life. As much as he wanted to appeal to his father's guidance, Draco was also keenly aware of the black-robed healers standing in a solemn line by the far wall, quiet and observing; necessary witnesses to their ailing king.

Lucius squeezed his son’s hand weakly and took another long shuddering breath. “Draco, I give to you the great armies of this empire,” Lucius spoke, his voice softer.

“I don’t want them.”

“I give to you her allies and her enemies.”

“No,” Draco sobbed heedless of the healers, uncaring of anything except what the words would mean. He could not stand to endure another loss.

“I give her people, the rich and the poor, the pious and the deviant.”

“Take them back, father. Please just stay,” Draco said, rejecting the ceremony his father had begun.

“I raised you to be a king. Conduct yourself accordingly,” Lucius rasped. “I give to you her riches, her wealth, in all her glory and all her imperfection.”

“I will rule justly, in the spirit of the great god, root out this empire’s imperfections until she has only strengths,” Draco answered flatly, and gripped his father’s hand in a tighter grasp.

“I give to you her palaces and her prisons, her schools, her buildings of history. Her monuments and her ruins.”

“I will rule justly,” Draco promised. “In the spirit of the great god. Root out this empire’s imperfections, until she has only strengths.”

“You make me so proud,” Lucius said. Draco looked up, surprised by the comment, but when his eyes met those of his father he realized that the man he had idealized since he was a child, the man he had loved and respected, who had cared for him and taught him, his father was dead.

………………..

Narcissa Malfoy stood in her chambers and listened as the bells rang out in the great city. Her husband was dead. Killed as a result of a violent and tenacious illness that even the best of healers could not stop. She knew that her son would be in the Great Hall where the advisors and the priests would have gathered to place a crown on his head. She was no longer a queen. She was no longer a mother. Her son had not spoken with her since she had stood beside her husband and informed him that the catamite Draco had been favoring was to be sentenced to death for the murder of a concubine.

Three days and she had been left alone to cope with her husband’s death. She had not left her chambers since she had been notified. She had spent every moment by her husband’s bedside, praying every night for Aneniel to give them more time, for the seven goddesses of healing to grant them a miracle. She had been with him every moment; every moment save his last. Lucius had called for Draco and Draco had made it clear he would not come if she were there.

Narcissa Malfoy had been destined to be the queen of the empire; had been raised to be such from her first indrawn breath. She had not anticipated the fierce love she had felt for her king; she had not anticipated the complications of life. From the very first day, she had hated the vast harem that had passed into her husband’s hands along with the empire: an entire host of bored whores just waiting for her to expose her inadequacy as queen so that they could replace her; an entire breeding ground for women stronger and more fertile than herself who would bear her husband heirs if he so let them.

She had done her queenly duty, had provided a child, though it had nearly killed her to do so. One child was better than no child, but for an empire as far-reaching as Edorea, it was a risk to have only a single heir. She had always been waiting for Lucius to turn his back on her, to find a replacement better suited than she. For all his promises and assurances, she had never quite believed that he truly loved only she. How could he, when there were nights he summoned another woman to his bed?

Lucius was her life, however. She had devoted everything she had to him. Now she had nothing. Not a son, Draco had expressed as much to her; not an empire, for what was a consort without her king?

As the bells rang out, Narcissa smoothed the wrinkles out of her finest gown and walked to her jewelry chest. She removed the dagger that Lucius had given her when they had become engaged and carried it with her out of her rooms. Through the familiar halls of the palace, she thought of the other times she had come this way, happy times when she had raced with her husband to his chambers, laughing as they stumbled through the doors.

She was not laughing as she entered the chambers, empty, because everyone was no doubt in the Great Hall for Draco’s crowning. Looking at the still, pale form of her husband lying peacefully on his bed as though he were only sleeping, Narcissa took a steadying breath and shut the door.

………………..

Draco turned slowly on the dais, his father’s crown on his head and garbed in his finest attire. He stepped slowly down the steps, watching as the people in the room parted for him. This was not his coronation, in keeping with tradition, a larger ceremony would be held after his father had been properly entombed for the people of the city and of the empire to see him. This was simply the passing of the torch so that the empire’s closest advisors and the priests of Aneniel would see that the empire was in his care.

On the bottom step, Draco looked at each of the occupants of the hall, the upturned, expectant faces belonging to the finest and most important members of the palace. Draco was king; from this moment onward everything would be different.

“As King of the Edorean Empire,” Draco said, his voice low and steady, “I hereby lift the sentence on the catamite Emerald. He is exonerated and I order his immediate release from the palace prison.”

There was a silence in the hall as everyone attempted to process this, the king’s first order of business. “My lord,” one of his advisors stepped forward, his movements halting and reluctant. “My lord, we’ve not heard a sound from his cell since last dawn.”

“I will go,” Blaise came forward, bowing low as he did so. When the king nodded at him, Blaise turned quickly and exited the hall.

………………..

Harry lay on the floor of his cell and began to imagine that he could hear Blaise’s voice. “He is far gone. I do not know that this will be enough.” Oh Blaise, Harry thought. It is enough. It is enough. Is it not enough?

A hand moved beneath his head, he felt the press of a ghostly cup at his lips. Suddenly the waters of paradise rushed passed cracked lips. Harry’s stomach heaved and he retched.

When he woke again it was to Blaise’s soft voice in his ear. He was still on the cold stone floor and did not think he had the strength to move. “Emerald,” Blaise was whispering. “Hush now, Emerald.” A thick blanket was draped over Harry’s shivering form and he felt the wonderful sensation of being held close to a warm body. Harry felt loved and cared for. “Emerald,” Blaise whispered.

“Blaise,” Harry said, his voice a hoarse whisper; it hurt to speak. “Call me Harry,” he said, and fell into unconsciousness once more.

………………..

Severus stood at the entrance to the chambers, unable to bring himself to wait inside the room. Every now and again he would catch himself wringing his hands and he would lock them behind his back and think of the marble sentinels carved in the archways of the palace: still and constant and composed.

Whatever feigned equanimity he had was lost at the sight of Blaise Zabini carrying a very thin and very pale body wrapped in a blanket down the hallway. For a moment, Severus thought they might have been too late.

“Have the healers come yet?” Blaise was asking when he and his precious cargo neared. Severus held the door open and gazed in shock as the body was carried passed him. It was so difficult to link the wreck of a form that reeked from days spent in the throws of a slow and brutal extermination, locked away in a cell, with the elegant, lithe, figure of the young catamite who had seemingly always been smiling.

“They are on their way. How is he?”

“He should be washed.”

“Gwynn has prepared a bath,” Severus said, gesturing towards the bathroom. “I can wash him.

“I can…” Blaise stopped and looked closely at Severus for a moment. “Perhaps we should both.”

Blaise carried the unconscious youth to the bath, and while he worked at unwrapping the blanket he had used to hastily cover the gaunt form, Severus brought over a fresh set of soft clothes and towels. He fussed with the soaps and lotions and bathing products mostly because seeing the filthy, pale body that had once glowed with vitality filled him with a rage that he could barely control.

“Help me settle him in,” Blaise said as he began to maneuver Emerald into the tub. The youth was very light, and even awkwardly perched on the side of the tub as they were, Blaise had no trouble hefting the body, but he knew how Severus was feeling, it was an almost desperate need to touch the green-eyed young man, to make certain he was there and breathing.

They worked together to shift Emerald into the water and bathe him, falling into an easy silence as they concentrated on their task, both aware that they were listening keenly to Emerald’s every intake of air.

While Severus repeatedly washed the dark hair, Blaise set to work on Emerald’s body. It took three refills of the tub before Blaise was satisfied that all traces of the dirt and reek of the prison was washed from Emerald's body, replaced with the fresh scent of apricots and jasmine, which was how the young man had always smelled.

By the time they had dried Emerald and dressed him the healer was already waiting, and Severus and Blaise were directed to settle Emerald onto the bed, before the healer chased them from the room, instructing them to wait and have patience while he did his work.

………………..

Severus stood very still in his office and looked out the large window by his desk. Blaise, who had settled onto the settee, watched his friend closely, wondering if Severus thought Blaise didn’t know that he had chosen that particular spot by that particular window because it offered a direct view of the main pathway, which was incidentally the very direction a servant would have to travel in order to bring them news.

“He told me his name,” Blaise confided softly, mostly in an attempt to process the past few days, the past few hours in particular.

“Do not tell me,” Severus instructed without turning.

“He was out of his mind with fever and dehydration. I don’t think he knew what he was saying. I think he thought I was a hallucination. I can’t imagine how he’ll cope.”

“We have yet to receive word from the healer,” Severus reminded. “We are not certain he will even have reason to cope.”

“It’s no use trying to avoid getting your hopes up,” Blaise said. “I tried that as well. All the while I traveled from the palace to the prison. And then even as I walked towards his cell, I kept telling myself: ‘They haven’t heard a sound since yesterday morning.’ It didn’t work, though. As soon as the guard opened the door for me and I smelled that smell and saw him lying there…” Blaise stopped talking, lost in the memory.

Severus clenched his fists and his jaw flexed but he said nothing. His rage towards the queen had not been quelled with her suicide. His anger with his king had not died with the man himself. His disappointment in Draco lingered no matter what the young man's first decision as king had been. It was all too little too late. Words meant nothing if not backed by appropriate action, and Draco had yet to prove he had learned his lesson.

A flurry of movement along the path and Severus drew himself up and opened the door, taking note that Blaise followed suit. The healer himself entered Severus’ office and nodded at them both. “He will live, Aneniel willing,” the man said and proceeded to set vials on the desk. “You must give him three drops of each of these after every meal.” He held up a blue bottle and shook it slightly as he said, “This one must be taken before each meal to make sure whatever he eats stays down. He mustn’t begin by eating quantities; that will upset his system. Here is a list of foods he can begin with, make sure he eats slowly and stops if he begins to feel unwell.”

………………..

Harry was not aware of the passing of the days. He was confined to the rooms where Blaise had brought him, which Harry had learned were located in the northeast portion of the palace, exactly opposite the harem and separated by a good number of sumptuous rooms and offices and suites. The particular suites to which his room belonged were set aside for Blaise, which meant that everything from the furnishings to the view were of the topmost quality; Blaise was, after all, the best-friend and advisor to Draco.

Harry had no interest in much of anything. At first, he could barely keep his eyes open; he felt weak and aching and any attempt to move from the bed ended with him in an ungainly sprawl on the floor. Harry soon learned to not leave his bed without either Severus or Blaise there to offer assistance, but one or the other, if not both, were always there. It never occurred to him to wonder who was maintaining the harem when Severus was with him, or who was dealing with the prince when Blaise sat by the bed and read to him. He learned to accept their presence and not question, mostly because either way, Harry simply couldn't be bothered.

The healer assured him that his health was improving, which Harry could corroborate with his ability to endure longer stretches of time between naps; meals became less of an ordeal, and trips to the bath or the washroom resulted in fewer gasps for breath and near-falls, but he never did feel completely better. Several times Blaise made an attempt to explain to him what had gone on in the palace after they had discovered Luna Lovegood with her throat slit and floating in the harem pool, but Harry always waved him off.

In truth, as he grew steadily stronger Harry’s reason for his lack of interest altered. At first it was because he was so very weak that he was never awake long enough to think about much of anything. He was falling asleep in the middle of sentences and sometimes it was all he could do to limply throw his arms around Severus’ neck as the man hauled him from bed to bath and back again. After a good deal of fussing and copious potions poured down him, and broths and beverages forced on him even if the thought of food both repulsed and excited him, Harry just did not want to hear about any of it. Life would be so much simpler if he never had to leave the room.

News of the palace naturally revolved around Draco, and hearing such news would turn Harry's thoughts in the new king's direction. He woulc catch himself wondering why the blond had never once come to see him, which led to Harry feeling a dizzying whirl of contradictory emotions. Mostly, he just couldn’t stop the aching yearning he felt for the man whom, despite Severus’ bitter words, Harry couldn’t bring himself to hate. News of the harem reminded Harry of the harpy that lay in wait for him. He was alive, which meant the fight was not done between he and Pansy, even if he had no desire to play those games with her.

Since she had no permission to leave the harem, Cho sent him notes, which he kept in the nightstand by the bed without opening. Gwynn was not so easily avoided as she insisted on being responsible for both bringing and subsequently clearing away his meals, as well as taking care of any and all of his other needs. Harry's sentence had stripped him of all his titles and belongings, and with those, he had lost Gwynn who had been working in the palace kitchens, which was not at all the sort of work she was accustomed to. With the sentence lifted and his innocence proclaimed, Harry had learned from Severus that all that had been taken from him had been, or would be, returned, and Gwynn would be reinstated as his servant just as soon as he returned to the harem.

“Hm, that’s a particularly dark look,” Gwynn commented as she came in with a laden tray. “Which I suppose is a step-up from the blank one you’ve been sporting.”

Harry glared at her, but it took too much energy and he became distracted when Severus re-emerged from the side room carrying a book. “I’ve read that one,” Harry pointed out, which prompted Severus to pause, huff in frustration and return to the other room.

“You’ve been here too long if you’ve read all those books. That’s Blaise’s personal library in there,” Gwynn commented.

“I’m convalescing.”

Gwynn nodded at him knowingly. It only infuriated Harry more; that she knew him so well that she could dismiss his mood knowing it had nothing to do with her, and more to do with a bitter anger that had grown in him as he writhed on the cold stone floor of a jail cell, abandoned, alone, betrayed. She kissed his head and smiled before she slipped out of his rooms.

A moment later Blaise entered. “Where is Severus?”

“Your library is too small,” Severus said, emerging from the side room with a small stack of books in his hands that he dropped onto Harry’s bed. Harry looked through them curiously, picking each one up carefully and inspecting them closely before separating the majority onto the nightstand and holding up three. Severus huffed darkly but accepted the books.

“That’s one of the largest personal libraries in the whole of the city; possibly the whole of the empire,” Blaise quipped. He settled onto Harry’s bed, automatically reaching forward to test Harry’s temperature and then brushing his hair out of his face. “What’s his problem?” he asked Harry. Severus looked at Blaise disdainfully as he opened the book, settling in the chair that had been pulled close to the bedside.

“He had difficulty in finding a new book,” Harry said with a shrug.

“They’re sorted by author,” Blaise provided helpfully. “But pretty much all you have to do is pick a direction and walk that way, you’ll bump into a whole shelf of books eventually.” Harry snorted.

“I believe what Emerald was attempting to say,” Severus drawled, “Is that he has read through the majority of your library.”

“It’s not like I have much else to do during the day.”

“You’re getting stronger,” Blaise said in an effort to cheer him. “Maybe it’s time you broadened your daily walks to venturing outside of this suite. Maybe even walk down to the stables. I hear that Demon has been an absolute … well, demon.”

“Is he okay?” Harry asked, concern evident in his voice, which was more than either Blaise or Severus had managed to get out of him since he’d been brought in.

“He’s fine. Well, he’s not getting enough exercise because there aren’t many who will willingly face the beast.”

“No one is bringing him his apples, though,” Harry said to himself.

“Then tomorrow you should make a point of getting back into the blasted beast’s good graces,” Severus commented. Harry had, when he had begun feeling better, convinced the Harem’s keeper to bring an apple down to his horse. Severus had not been overly descriptive of his interactions with Demon, but he was quite emphatic in his assertion that he would not be making a second trip near the psychotic creature, regardless of how Harry might plead with him to.

The idea of going down to the stables and visiting Demon, even if he wasn’t quite strong enough to be trusted for the duration of a ride, set Harry at ease for the first time since he had awoken. If he were honest, Harry would admit that he had been occupying a sort of suspended reality, revelling in the safety that Blaise’s apartment offered him. Yet still, he had been on eggshells, wondering when he would awake to the cold of the dungeon; wondering when the soldiers would return to strip him down to his skin and toss him back into the darkness. A hint of fear still lingered at the thought of leaving the safety of the apartments. Leaving them increased the risk of his coming to the attention of the guards, something that Harry did not like thinking about. Still, he hated being confined, and the added incentive of seeing his equine friend matched with the idea of racing his horse to freedom, or the fantasy of freedom.

………………..

The sun beat warmly on his skin and he pressed his fingers into the cool marble as he looked down at the grounds below. From where he stood he could clearly see a fiery horse and dark-headed rider running in ‘s’ patterns back-and-forth across the width of the grounds.

“He’s looking well,” Draco commented, not taking his eyes from the sight of the young catamite and his horse.

“His health is improving,” Severus confirmed.

“I’ve seen him out here almost every day now. It’s good that he is returning to his old habits,” Draco thought aloud.

“I am surprised you are taking the time to watch him ride.”

Draco spared a look at the man that stood beside him, but Severus simply watched Emerald as he rode. “Is that a snide comment on the fact that I have been busy ruling the empire?” Severus sneered but turned his head further away from the young king. “We’ve parted ways at some point, Severus,” Draco continued. “We once were in total agreement all the time.” He smiled a wistful smile. “We are not so much, any longer.”

“I fully support you, your Majesty,” Severus drawled.

“I never doubt your loyalty, Severus. I’m not an idiot.” Draco turned his gaze back to the field. “I think it has to do with Emerald.” Severus drew himself up and Draco smiled to himself. “I thought as much.”

“Your catamites do not interest me, your Majesty, except insofar as it is my duty to keep them.”

Draco looked back at the dark-haired man and their gazes met. For a moment they simply stared at one another before Draco turned away once more. “You disapprove that I have not been to see him.” Severus made no comment but Draco had grown-up idolizing the man and knew the statement to be true. “I know him too well, Severus. He would not have liked me to see him in the state he was in.”

“How insightful,” Severus murmured. “And convenient, that this insight excuses you from openly confronting what you have done.”

“It’s your boldness, Severus, that kept you in my father’s good graces, and your honesty that keeps you in mine,” Draco replied. “Is he well enough to come to my chambers?”

Severus snorted, but noticing that Draco was serious, he replied, “No. He is not.”

It was the slight biting in his friend and mentor’s tone that caused Draco to explain himself. “He will be worried that I have forgotten him. He will think I have moved on in his absence. It has been quite some time.”

“Almost enough time for a victim of a cruel and unjust death sentence to recover,” Severus answered. “But not quite.”

“I find your anger concerning Emerald very disconcerting,” Draco said, turning to face the man fully.

“Your father requested of me, at the start of his reign, that I always speak openly and with truth. Those are vows you yourself requested I reaffirm to you, and I did. My responsibility is to guard your harem and keep it. This I have done, and continue to do. Unlike my predecessors I have not once broken any of the oaths I have sworn when I accepted the position of Keeper of the Harem. As your harem’s keeper, you ask me if a catamite is ready to satisfy your need, and I say he is not. I will send any other occupant to your bed, if it should please you, my Lord,” Severus said, with perhaps a bit of defiance in his tone, but he was an old and trusted friend, and such things went overlooked. “If you ask for my approval of your actions, however, I cannot in honesty give it.”

“You still think me weak? I am king.”

“A fine crown you wear, too, my lord,” Severus retorted. “But it is not the crown that makes the king.”

“I will always be a failure to you,” Draco wondered aloud. “You were never so easily pleased as my father was.”

“You are my king, and it is my duty to honour you. You are a friend, and it is only right that I am honest with you. But you are not my son, and so it is not required that I love you. I am your subject, and like any of your other subjects, until you earn my respect, you will not have it.”

………………..

Harry waited until nightfall, when he knew everyone would be in their rooms, to make the trip to the harem, traveling through the backways and seldom used corridors of the palace until he reached the familiar sheltered walk that connected the palace to the harem where Severus stood waiting. They walked silently, Harry listening to the chirrup of the birds and the rustle of leaves as the cool night wind blew through them; it would have been so simple to believe that the harem was a quiet, peaceful place, but Harry knew better. When they came to his old suite of rooms Severus withdrew the keys from his pocket, not commenting as Harry paused by the door.

“Draco kept it locked. No one has moved into it since you left it,” Severus said, his voice a low murmur; the night called for such quiet.

Harry reached a hand forward and touched the doorknob, and then his gaze slipped to his left, to the balcony path that led to Draco's rooms. “I do not wish to return to these rooms,” Harry said. He kept his eyes averted as Severus watched him keenly.

“I thought that might be a possibility,” Severus said, and then, in a stronger voice, as if they had never stopped by those old rooms at all he said, “I have taken the liberty of having Gwynn prepare your room.” Harry turned surprised eyes to his friend, but followed when the man continued on.

The room was on the main level but tucked away at the very edge of the harem, located in a shadow of architecture and ivy that kept it quite separate and private from the other rooms. It was a fair distance from the nurseries where any accidental children were raised, and secluded enough from the main portion of the harem that it felt almost like a different place altogether, and while there were a few other doors beside the one leading to Harry's suites, there was no indication of who might be living there, and Harry wondered who his neighbours might be and if he'd met them before.

“Miss Cho is on your right, and some of the older concubines occupy the other rooms,” Severus answered. He withdrew a set of keys from his robe pocket and unlocked the door. Harry waited until a lamp was lit before following into the space.

The suite was smaller, and not as elaborately decorated as his old rooms had been, but the bedding looked fresh and the mattress soft, and it seemed like a dream to Harry. “Is it to your liking?”

Harry would have dearly liked to embrace the man who had taken care of him so very well as he recovered, who had taken care of him, in fact, from the very first day he had set foot within the harem. He knew, however, that such a thing was frowned upon and so settled for a smile and meeting his friend’s eyes with his own slightly damp ones.

“This will do nicely,” Harry said, trying to make his tone appear snobbish, which caused his Keeper’s lips to twitch in amusement.

“Regrettably, your things have been lost,” Severus commented. They both knew that all of Harry’s belongings had been thrown into the centre of the harem courtyard where eager concubines and catamites had carried each item of clothing, each treasured possession, off like a trophy. “I will have an order sent out to replace them. Goodnight, Emerald,” Severus said softly, and bowed slightly as he stepped towards the door.

“Severus?” Harry called, and turned around to look at the man where he had paused in the doorway. Harry felt a bit foolish, with that dark gaze on him patiently waiting, and himself having forgotten what he seemed so desperate to say a moment before. But it came clear again, as he stood there, and he stepped forward, placing a his hand on the Keeper's forearm as he said, “My name is Harry.” Severus' dark eyes watched him for a moment and then the man placed his hand atop Harry's own and dipped his head forward, his expression sombre, and bowed.

………………..

“Hush-a-bye,” a soft voice crooned in his ear. “Hush-a-bye, my lovely.” Harry whimpered and shifted closer to the source of warmth. “That’s right, easy now.”

As he struggled toward full wakefulness Harry recognized Cho’s voice and smiled to himself, allowing his body to relax in her arms as she rocked him gently and crooned softly. “Better now?” she asked after a moment.

“We’re going to get caught, you know,” Harry said instead of answering.

“Severus knows all about it, and if you continue to have nightmares that I can hear all the way over in my room, then I’m going to continue to come in here and make sure you don’t lose yourself in their grasp.”

“If you can hear me, Livinia must as well. She could offer an explanation.”

“Livinia is practically deaf, Harry,” Cho said in amusement. “It’s probably from raising each of those screaming brats all on her own. She should have just given them over to the wet nurse like everyone else with good sense.”

“I like Livinia,” Harry countered. He found he rather enjoyed the older and more eccentric concubines that occupied his and Cho’s end of the harem. Each of them was well over fifty, though Livinia’s precise age was difficult to tell. Some days she looked younger than even forty and her eyes would be bright with mischief, some days she acted very young indeed, but she was friendly and she didn’t gossip, which was a relief for Harry.

“Besides,” Cho continued as if Harry had not spoken. “You hardly need worry about my reputation. I don't think anyone in the palace could stand to see any further punishment dealt to you, and happily, that extends to your closest friends for fear that hurting us would further hurt you. I'm afraid, my dear, that you have been and are even moreso now, the gem of the whole empire. They all love you.”

Harry had been increasingly suspicious about that. Sheltered as he had been, tucked away in Blaise's rooms, and then again in his new rooms in the harem, he had been quite removed from the daily palace life. He had been to the banquets, or even been out wandering through the halls, but when he had done, everyone he had met had always seemed delighted to see him, whether he spoke to them or not. He began to wonder at the gossip circulating about him, curious for the first time at how the nobles and ambassadors had interpreted first his imprisonment, and then his release, and if Draco had a hand in spinning a story that resulted in those he had seen, even the silent palace guards, looking on him with such fond joy, as if he were some kind of heroic figure for enduring.

“Don't think on it,” Cho advised. “The only thing that matters is you're safe now, and with the exception of a certain delicate flower, no one is nursing any grudges about it. What did you dream tonight?”

“Back in the cell,” Harry muttered reluctantly as he rubbed at his eyes. “Even leaving the lamp on doesn’t help anymore.”

“It’ll pass with time,” Cho assured him. “It will all get better with time.”

………………..

Two months later and a thinner, paler and quieter Harry Potter made the walk from his rooms to those of the prince. Unlike before when he walked along a balcony path of marble and stone and flowers, he found himself instead climbing a set of stone steps nearly overrun with rogue ivy.

He kept to the shadows as he traversed this longer path. Nor did he trace a hand idly along the banister as he imagined his meeting with the prince, no, Draco was king now, Harry sometimes had trouble remembering such things. He had been so removed from palace politics that he could not imagine the king and queen gone, with Draco at the helm of the whole empire. Tonight he would satisfy a king.

Harry stopped as a wave of nausea raced through him, he did not want to go to Draco’s rooms. It seemed clearer than it ever had what his relationship with the blond was. Memories that he had clutched to in the darkness, of lover’s kisses and walks through the palace zoo, and making fanciful plots against disliked nobles were an illusion, something a bored royal did to pass the time, and Harry had allowed himself to get caught up in it. Now there was no turning back; he loved a man who could not love him in return, and nothing he could do could possibly change the king’s heart. They were separated by an ever-increasing chasm.

Wasn’t it better, then, to take what he could in the king? Wasn’t it better to have even that small piece of the man he loved than to have nothing at all? Still, Harry found himself wishing that he had died along with that piece of himself in the prison, because life afterward hurt more than that slow-death ever had.


	8. The God's Consort

“My Lord?” Blaise asked when he looked up from the maps spread across the tables to find the king looking out the window. Blaise was not a fool, he knew what his offices overlooked.

Draco sighed and glanced back briefly to Blaise before turning back to the window. “He is looking much better, don’t you agree?”

Blaise stepped away from the table and joined his friend, looking down into the small courtyard where he could see Harry resting in the shade of a silken canopy. Cho and Gwynn, who Blaise rarely saw away from the young catamite’s side, as well as several others Blaise did not know by name but recognized as members of the Oraios, lounged alongside the young catamite, socializing.

Harry was looking much better, and each day he improved. His skin was no longer a sickly white and the circles beneath his eyes were not as dark, though Blaise had heard from Severus that the youth’s sleep was far from sound; Blaise wondered if Draco knew of Harry’s nightmares. It was hard to know what Draco was thinking of late. They had been such close friends but in the days following Harry’s imprisonment Blaise had watched as the other man withdrew steadily into himself. Now, after the deaths of the king and queen, Blaise was forced to admit that he barely knew the blond anymore.

“He’s changed,” Draco said, speaking aloud but softly. “So much. I hardly know what to make of him anymore.”

Blaise was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his patience with his king, and he had to remind himself that Draco had barely had the time to devote to Harry, faced with attempts to discredit him, plots to dethrone him, and political uprisings throughout the Empire and around its borders. Like many before him, Draco was being forced to fight for his claim to the throne. While Severus had the luxury, removed as he was from direct politics, to rail against the new king, Blaise knew secrets that Draco tried very hard to keep, one of which were the frequent night walks that had, during Harry’s convalescence, taken him by the outdoor balcony in front of Blaise’s quarters. Logically, Blaise understood that Draco was struggling to keep the empire intact while also doing what he thought best for his heart’s treasure, but the fact remained that the empire was still standing, and Harry was falling apart.

“What he endured,” Blaise said. “I can’t imagine. That leaves a mark, Draco. He is changed.”

“He pulls away from me. He’s never done that before, but now. …It’s not always, but when he does it’s almost as if he can’t take anymore. He tries to hide it, tries to pretend, but that’s all he’s doing: pretending.”

“What else did you expect?” Blaise asked honestly. “Draco, I went to gather him from that prison. They took everything. He was naked and alone in the dark, as your father ordered him to be. As your mother wished it. As you allowed him to be. Naked and alone, for five days of slow agony. I know you struggled, and I know it was difficult to finally realize that your parents are not infallible, that they make mistakes. I know the call for you to grow up was shocking after you had been left to your naïve illusions for so long; left to be the High Prince instead of exposed to the harsh realities. Still, the fact remains, my friend, that he trusted you and you in turn betrayed him.

“Now you tell me that he pulls away from you sometimes, and you are confused.” Blaise huffed and shook his head in astounded disbelief. “Naked. Alone. Curled in on himself, out of his mind with fever, dehydrated, starving, freezing to the touch … and the smell. I’m not surprised he pulls away. I am surprised he comes to you at all. Then again, he is your whore, Draco,” Blaise snapped, his anger twisting in him and spilling passed his lips. “It is his duty to let you fuck him in any place, in any way it should please you.”

“Stop it!” Draco hissed spinning around, his anger clear in his eyes. “Never speak of Emerald that way! Ever, do you understand? He is not a whore! He never was. I love him, Blaise! I love him!” There was turmoil in the king’s voice, as Blaise saw grey eyes glinting in the sun as if they watered. He knew he had pushed too far but it had to be done, someone had to stand for the beautiful used boy who was caught in a web of politics and emotion, in love with a man who knew nothing of love at all.

“You love him so much,” Blaise said, his tone even again. “That you would fuck him and then forget about him.”

“What would a eunuch know?” Draco snarled. They stood in tense silence; reminiscent of the fights they used to have as children. Those fights had always ended when their tutor had called them back to lessons, and they were united in their shared dislike of being indoors on warm days. They were not children any longer. “You’re in love with him,” Draco said calmly a moment later, realization dawning clear like the chime of a bell.

“What an absurd thing to say,” Blaise said. “My passion, like that of my fellows, is for books and learning.”

Silence again, and Draco turned back to the table where he idly shuffled through papers. “I’ve decided,” he said after a moment. “That it doesn’t do to have friends who are not appropriately in awe of me.” He said it in that wry tone that Blaise, after years of friendship, was well acquainted with. Smiling to himself, he stepped back to the table and smacked the king lightly upside the head.

……………………….

Harry's life had fallen into routine. Before, his days had been easy, and routine had been something he fell into more out of coincidence than any prearranged plan; now Harry was driven by his moods, and those were becoming embarrassingly predictable.

He existed in a strange state, remembered and yet forgotten. Kept hidden in the furthest part of the harem but summoned nightly to the king’s side. His mornings were passed alone in the baths where even Gwynn respected his need for solitude, and more often than not, made it all the way to brunch without having spoken a word. By brunch, however, Cho and Gwynn, and sometimes the older concubines from their forgotten corner of the world would descend upon him, convinced he had enough self-imposed isolation.

He swam rigorously and frequently. He rode Demon consistently, and dined with Severus often. He was always aware of the fact that Draco wished for more time with him but refused to ask for it, though Harry was not certain what it was that prevented the king from asking. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cynical, Harry wondered if it was because, however much the king enjoyed his body, he was also slightly disgusted with him as well. Other times, when his wistful love for the king overwhelmed him, he tortured himself with notions that Draco was respecting him and his wishes for solitude and privacy by not dragging Harry before the court and through the palace as frequently as he once had. Most times, Harry didn’t bother to think on it at all.

“And did you hear?” Oestel, Livinia’s servant, was whispering to the group as they sat for brunch. “Catamite Thomas and concubine Parkinson were severely disciplined by Master Snape last evening.” As if by some unspoken understanding, none of the inhabitants of their forgotten corner gossiped. They made a point of moving in quiet circles, observing but never quite being noticed by others; always above and around, but never stooping down to hear the chatter and observe the habits of their peers. This did not mean, however, that their servants didn’t, at times, bring back curious news for them to ponder.

“Dean Thomas?” Livinia asked for clarification, her low, soft voice cutting the noise more effectively than a shout would have.

“The same,” Oestel confirmed. “No one’s quite sure why, though there’s supposition amongst some of the others that it’s because of you, Emerald.” Oestel smiled a little, the enthusiasm of a duck in a pond simmering just beneath the surface of her charming face.

“Me?” Harry said, feigning an interest he did not quite feel.

“Well,” Oestel continued. “Pansy, that is, concubine Parkinson,” she corrected herself unnecessarily. “She’s been causing quite a fuss in the harem since you’ve returned, but Master Snape won’t tolerate any of it. Apparently catamite Thomas won’t, either.”

Livinia turned her attention to Harry, one eyebrow raised. “Were you not a member of the Oraios, Emerald?”

“For a time,” Harry said. The thought of the Oraios twisted him up. He had never discussed whether his absence from the group was permanent or not. When he was recovering, his health was such that thinking about dancing again was out of the question. It was possible, he supposed, to speak with Severus about it, but Harry wasn’t certain he could face Dean again, could dance like they once had. He was tired of it.

Harry felt old, of late. Jaded by experience, and often he caught himself lifting a condescending brow when he overheard others being sentimental or even affectionate. He wondered why people bothered with the lies when the truth spared so much more pain. Harry supposed that his situation was unique, or if not quite unique, then perhaps at least not so common: a servant in love with a king. How did one proceed from that point? There was no room to cultivate respect between them; there would always be the doubt, the fear of pity or condescension. They could never be equal. All the rational thought in the world, however, did not make Harry feel any differently. Would it always be like this? Would he live in the harem until he died, or Draco did, and his body was passed in ownership to the next king. There was a time when Harry felt the harem was preferred over the prison; now he wondered.

“H – Emerald,” Severus interrupted, appearing from the shadows beneath the sheltered pathway. A glimpse at the tall man had Harry rising from his seat and excusing himself hastily. “I did not mean to interrupt,” Severus murmured, smirking somewhat to emphasis his subtle teasing. “The king requests your presence.”

“So early?” Though Harry was already turning towards the steps that would lead him to Draco’s room.

“He is in the map room.” Severus re-oriented Harry with a gentle push-pull, until he was pointed in the direction of the path that would take him to the entrance to the palace.

Harry went without comment, but inside he could not help wondering. The map room was one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the palace. There was nothing in it but a very large and very dark wood table that was always cluttered with maps of the regions of the empire and her surrounding lands. The walls were likewise decorated, and there was even an approximate, though dated, design of the empire, the planet and the celestial bodies the floor. It was a strategy room, but Harry liked to go there because it put things in perspective. Agathe, even Wystenia, were such small places in comparison to the world. That didn’t help him understand why Draco would want to meet him there, however.

Walking, Harry kept close to the walls because he had noticed that this was how the servants walked and the courtiers who populated the palace always overlooked them, he wanted to be overlooked as well. Outside the map room there stood two guards, looking to all as if they stood by that particular door every day, but Harry knew better. He passed them with a nod, and one even smiled in return, though Harry wasn’t familiar with the man’s face.

“Emerald,” Draco said, rising from where he had been examining a map and gesturing Harry forward.

“Master Snape said you summoned me. I came as quickly as I could,” Harry said dutifully, though he remembered not to bow. The first time he had been summoned to Draco’s rooms after the blond had been made king, Harry had made a full and proper obeisance and Draco had been quite offended, pestering Harry for a good portion of the evening about his sudden adherence to formality.

Draco stood with his back to the table, leaning against it slightly. When Harry came forward the king drew him close to his chest, one hand resting at Harry’s waist; he ghosted the fingers of his other hand against Harry’s cheek, and Harry felt so at peace in the moment, his eyes drifting closed, soothed so completely. Somehow the simple touch cut-through the differences, the rationalities, the excuses and fears that kept them both separated. Harry wanted nothing more than to live in that moment, but then Draco was talking again, and it was as if the gentle embrace had never happened, except for the fading warmth he felt where Draco’s fingers had traced over his skin.

“In a few days the army is marching to Perwind. The northerlings are testing my strength and capacity to rule as a new king,” Draco said. “I’m riding today to see them off, rally the spirits.”

“You’re going to fight?”

Draco shook his head solemnly. “To leave the city for any great length of time would be tantamount to offering my throne to the highest and most ruthless bidder. I can afford to send them off, but not to ride out with them.” Harry moved to step away but Draco's hand clasping the back of his neck stopped him and instead, he found himself once again being drawn close to the king. “Come with me,” Draco whispered.

“My Lord,” Harry teased to mask the pleasure that coiled inside him at the offer. “Anyone would think you couldn’t stand to be parted from me for even a moment.”

“Not for a moment,” Draco echoed with a strange expression on his face. Harry could not tell if he were joking.

“Flattery,” Harry said, trying very hard not to let his mind, or his heart, play tricks with him. “You’ve found my weakness. I’ll have to go and pack.”

“No need.” Draco's tone had relaxed and his expression was clear once again. “I’ve taken the liberty.” His casual expression alerted Harry to prepare himself for some grand act, and as he followed the king out of the map room and out of the palace, it was to be faced with a spectacle indeed.

Elephants, Harry was too dazed to count the number, stood, shifting their feet in impatience, their tamers running about frantically to make sure the beasts did not move out of step; there were people, Harry could see, on the elephants’ backs as well. Over thirty horses, some hitched to wagons, carrying riders and supplies alternately. Separated by a space were a group of Draco’s elite guard, mounted on horseback of course, and at the head of the bizarre parade stood a stable hand, clutching the reins of Draco’s black destrier, and beside him stood Mardirand who was reluctantly and with some trouble, holding Demon’s reins.

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“You don’t mind riding with me?” Draco teased.

“I can manage.” Harry was already walking forward. Demon’s bucking became more furious and he was forced to jog the last few paces before Mardirand was trampled into the road.

“I’ll never understand that beast,” Mardirand muttered bitterly as Harry mounted his quieted horse with casual ease. Harry tried to quell his amusement at the man’s bruised ego.

“It’s a question of good taste,” Draco said as Mardirand and the stablehand retreated back to the palace.

“I thought he was a gift to you as High Prince?” Harry questioned innocently.

“Hmph,” Draco said, sticking his nose in the air with an indignant huff. “I’ll never understand that beast.” He kicked his horse’s side and started forward, Harry guiding Demon into movement, and behind them the procession followed.

…………………..

It was a little over a half-day ride from Agathe to Throsis where the army was beginning their march, but Harry felt as if he were in another world. He’d only ever seen Brucandis growing up, and when he did leave, it was on a ship that took him directly to Agathe, where he had stayed. Harry had spent a good deal of his youth imagining the world but never quite expecting to see it. Yet, in a little over a half-day, he had ridden through caves and mountains, by beaches and a forest, seen temples and ruins and even a king's tomb. He’d thought the ride would be impersonal, more of a parade than anything because of the entourage that was riding with them; the elephants were slow and the supply train took an easier path, and though Draco’s guards did surround them as they rode, their distance was such that Harry barely noticed their presence.

By the time they rode into the camp Harry was in the best of spirits. He’d seen new things, and throughout the journey, Draco had recited to him the history and legends of the places they passed, peppered with his own personal anecdotes. They spoke and laughed and it was such an easy interaction that when a general greeted Draco as ‘my king’, Harry felt momentarily startled. They’d made their way through the camp to the generals' tent, stopping to acknowledge soldiers as they passed. Harry had fallen silent, then. Sitting at Draco's right, surrounded by generals eager to demonstrate their knowledge of strategy for their king as they made plans the defence of the empire.

Finally, they had made their way to the king’s tent, the largest tent in the camp, where Harry had sunk gratefully into the warm bath that had been prepared. His time in the harem had accustomed Harry to both cleanliness and luxury, and his time in prison had only compounded that.

“I’ll go out again to speak with the soldiers,” Draco said in answer to the question Harry had not given voice. He took out some clean clothes and began to dress, after only a brief soak.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry stepped out of the tub, patting himself dry as he slung the awaiting robe about his shoulders. “Are most of them friends of yours?” he asked as he tossed the damp towel aside, slipping his arms through the sleeves of the robe and tying it loosely.

“They’re soldiers,” Draco said with a shrug, as if that were answer enough, and then rolled his eyes at Harry, noting the water that was slowly wetting the silk robe. Snatching-up his own towel, Draco intercepted Harry on his way to the bed. “Stop a moment, before you destroy the bedding, as well.” Toweling the dark hair, Draco continued, “I've trained with some of the men; but most I’ve never seen, except in parades.”

“So you don’t know very many of them?” Harry ducked away from the towel-assault, ignoring Draco's frown as he dropped himself happily onto the bed, deciding in that moment that he was far too relaxed to concern himself with putting on proper clothes.

Draco tossed the sodden towel aside. “What is this about?” Draco asked as he tied a sash to hold his cloak closed and settled at the edge of the bed by Harry’s feet, one hand naturally settling on Harry’s bent knee.

“Just something I wondered.”

“I don’t know how I could forget,” Draco said in a whisper, a strange combination of amusement and awe and respect on his features.

“What?”

“I forget that we are both tacticians and leaders.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

“Oh great rebel leader,” Draco teased. “What has you wondering about my troops? Some advice for me, oh great one?” Despite the exaggerated drawl, Harry could tell that Draco was serious in his request.

Harry shifted until he was lying on his stomach and Draco paused before he settled next to him, his head propped on his hand as he watched Harry form what he was about to say. “The people who were with me,” Harry said. “They were people from my village, but the way I was raised … I didn’t know so many of them. Since I was a child in comparison to those I was leading…” Harry stopped and licked his lips, he was playing with his fingers, focussing on them rather than the king he was instructing. “It was a concern, you see, that they might chafe under my orders.”

“I thought you were secretly leading them and the old man, Dumbledore, wasn't it? was your mouthpiece,” Draco confessed.

Harry shook his head. “It was me. Albus was with me from the beginning but he wasn’t a warrior, didn’t have much to offer them by way of leadership. His help was important to me, but he didn’t do much by way of leading anyone. I did that.”

“The rebellion was your brainchild?”

“We’re off point,” Harry said, his cheeks flushing. “What I did, part of what I did with the others, was to learn every single one of their names. I knew who they were, their family, important things to them, and I made certain that they were aware that I knew each one of them.”

“They followed you?” Draco asked. “Except the one rat among your flock who turned against you?”

“The point was that I was aware of exactly where my weaknesses were. I knew the rat, as you put it; he was useful for us as well. How many of your soldiers can you name?”

“Emerald,” Draco said. “The empire’s army is massive. I mean, that would be impossible.”

“Before you go to visit any place, you learn about it, isn’t that what you told me today? So you won’t be caught unprepared, or at a disadvantage. Are people so different from places? These men, they all know your face, they’re prepared to die for you,” Harry continued. “Your whims affect their lives completely and totally.”

“Defending the borders is not a whim.”

“I’m saying that decisions that are black-and-white, natural and sometimes even easy for you, barely warranting much concern, are the entire world to these people. I’m just saying…“ Harry stopped talking, bit down hard on his tongue and went red. He wasn’t comfortable talking about the rebellion at Brucandis with Draco; always wondered at what the other man would think of his reasons and his strategies, wondered how what he had done would affect what they were together. There was always the concern, more vivid now since he had been imprisoned and sentenced to death, that Draco would realize the extent of his treason and have him killed, as was his rightful punishment mandated in the laws of the empire.

“You have a point,” Draco said. Harry felt a gentle touch run along the side of his face but did not turn his head. “You amaze me,” Draco whispered, but since Harry’s head was turned away, he did not see the blonde’s sad smile as he rose. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

………………………..

Draco let the flap of the tent fall closed behind him but did not step away. There were times when Emerald showed a different part of himself, a part that Draco believed the other man all too often kept hidden, where Draco felt as if they were finally talking to each other openly and honestly, and it didn’t feel as if they were separated by a chasm of differences. Draco, from the very beginning of his relationship with the enigmatic youth, cherished those moments.

He was always brutally aware that Emerald was an illusion; a pretty and intriguing illusion, but one just the same. Behind the thin veneer of the alluring catamite, there was a youth who had grown up in a poor country, led a rebellion that was very nearly victorious, only to be robbed of his friends and brought to the palace. Whoever Emerald was before he had met Draco, he wasn’t that boy anymore, not that Draco ever saw, and he so dearly wished that he knew that boy. There were moments when Draco thought he could almost see him, when ‘Emerald’ ceased to be, but they were fleeting, and he was never quite certain of them.

Pacing in front of the tent, the king wondered what it was that held the youth back. It would be easy to think it was simply a matter of trust. After his imprisonment, Draco could understand that Emerald might be cautious, but this had been a pattern long before any of that. He wished he had the words to convey to Emerald exactly how he felt, but he had always been better at expressing himself through action, and he had even thought he’d made himself clear, thought that he had shown Emerald that he loved him; he’d certainly tried.

Yet even before Draco had failed Emerald and allowed him to be taken from the palace, the youth had kept himself distant. Draco didn’t even know the boy’s real name. True, he had looked on the name ‘Emerald’ with a sort of pride in the beginning, remembering the first time he had seen those striking eyes, remembering the boy as he stepped before Draco’s father and had the audacity to claim the name as if it were his birth name, to lie to a king! It had always seemed as if it were a symbol that Emerald was his. That changed rather quickly, however, and Draco began to realize it was a barrier keeping him from knowing his lover truly. It was further proof that everything that Severus had said, all that Blaise had warned him of, was true, and it was that, if nothing else, that made Draco confident he was making the right decision, however much it pained him.

……………………..

Harry awoke from a light doze but did not open his eyes, he was enjoying the trace of cool fingertips across his skin and the light, feathering kisses raining down softly on his neck. He had not bothered to dress after his bath with Draco, feeling too relaxed and lazy, and had instead opted to tuck himself under the silk sheets and fur blankets. Now he was rather pleased with his decision to remain undressed.

A tongue traced the column of his throat firmly and Harry shuddered and sighed, raised an arm in order to clutch Draco’s head closer to him. He felt the curve of a smile against his skin and then Draco shifted upward to kiss him.

Without thinking, Harry’s fingers were working to quickly rid the blond of his clothing. Already his breath was coming in soft gasps.

They didn’t speak, there wasn’t a need. It felt surprisingly uncomplicated to make love as they were, without make-up and costume, without teasing dialogue; without anything but the two of them, alone and in bed. Harry could forget and remember, could clutch Draco close to his body and press his hips upward and not be thinking about anything except that it was Draco touching him, and that it felt amazing and he wanted more. They knew each other so well when they were together. Draco knew that Harry’s fingers twisting in his hair meant ‘more’, and one leg brought up to pull Draco closer meant ‘now’ or sometimes ‘faster’.

It was breath: hot gasps, heady sighs, and panting. It was tongue and it was fingers and it was everywhere. Harry was spreading his legs wide long before Draco even ventured a touch below his waist, and Draco stayed close, oh so close, his face pressing into the crook of Harry’s neck as he finally – finally! – sank into Harry’s body. It was slow and it was hot and it was ecstasy. But they were soft and they were quiet, and drank down each other’s sounds, content that they were not coherent, that they were unintelligible and hushed.

Release was epiphany bordering on apocalyptic, but afterwards Draco held him close and Harry curled into the warm embrace. They did not speak, did not fall asleep, simply stayed together pressed close as their breathing steadied. Sometimes things were beautiful and simple, those were the moments when Harry couldn’t find fault with the world.

……………………..

“So, after a romantic ride, practically alone, no doubt acting like a pair of goggly, love-struck idiots, you camped in a decadent tent with silks and satins and fur, dined with an entire army, who were no doubt all tripping over themselves to fulfil your every whim, not to mention the hot, steamy man-sex you probably partook of during the night. After all of that, you return here to us, and all you have to say for yourself is, 'I had a pleasant time'!” Cho said in a gush.

Harry laughed at her outrage. “We didn’t act like a pair of goggly idiots,” he said. “The tent wasn’t so very large,” he continued to feign a snooty look of distaste, which earned him amused laughs, and one teasing swat across the arm. “The soldiers were a tad too eager to please, and I hardly slept at all,” Harry said, registering his complaints. When Cho shook her head at his antics he relented. “Steamy man-sex?” He was blushing, but he couldn’t help it, it was an ingrained reaction. Draco had surmised that it didn’t matter how debauched Harry ever was, he would never lose his penchant for blushing. Cho wiggled her eyebrows at him and grinned and Harry shook his head at her.

“Catamite Emerald?” a voice asked. Harry sat up a bit from where he had been reclining by the pool and was surprised to see one of the king’s messengers. “Your presence is requested by his majesty.” Which was odd, because Draco always sent Severus to summon him, never a palace messenger. Harry rose, feeling somehow wrong-footed, and followed.

Draco was seated behind his desk in his study, and as soon as Harry was delivered, the king dismissed the servant who had brought him. Harry was still adjusting to being back in the palace, and the constant reminds that Draco was king. Still, as he stood facing the blond he did not think his sudden nervous hesitancy was as a result of their time away. Draco was sitting, straight-backed and serious, and Harry had the distinct sense that this was what Draco's advisors might be used to when they conducted their business, but it was certainly not a side of Draco that Harry had ever faced before. Not directed toward him, at least.

“What is it?” Harry said, bracing himself at the same time that he tried to convince himself he was being overly sensitive.

“Emerald,” Draco said, then sighed. “I want to give you something,” he began, obviously picking his words with difficulty. “This isn’t exactly the procedure, you understand, but given our history I thought it best that I extend this as an option lest it be mistakenly construed as an order.”

“You’re not making sense.” Harry came foward, standing behind the chair he had been invited to sit in, his hands unconsciously gripping its back.

“Emerald,” Draco said as he walked around the desk, stopping a few steps away and seemingly unable to broach the distance. “I’m asking if you will become the high priest of the temple of Aneniel.”

Harry’s mind froze for a moment. It was the very last thing he had expected Draco to say to him. His head spun and when his thoughts formed any sort of order the only thing that he was really able to process was, “You’re sending me away?”

“You misunderstand me.”

“But you said …”

“I’m giving you freedom. I thought this would please you.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, at a complete loss and more than a little dismayed. “What have I done?” His world tilted a little and for fear that he would dramatically faint in the centre of the king’s office, Harry quickly settled onto the chair, his head in his hands.

“It is not anything you have done,” Draco said quite firmly. “I am offering this to you because it would be good for the empire, you would be good for the empire. If you don’t want to be high priest, then say no. If you would rather go home, I can grant that. If you would prefer to stay in the harem, I will keep you.”

“So this is about the empire?” Harry said, trying to follow Draco’s thoughts.

“You’re not happy here,” Draco continued and stopped Harry when he attempted to protest, dropping to kneel by Harry's chair. “This isn’t a place for you. You’ve been through enough this year. I’m granting you freedom but if it interests you, I would have you stay in Agathe as the high priest.”

“I’ve not, at any point in my life, been a member of the order.”

Draco smiled in amusement. “Neither did the current high priest. He was a friend of my father’s, someone who my father trusted.”

“So you’re kicking a friend of the family out of the temple?”

This time Draco did laugh. “As king, I am making changes to my advisors.” Draco gently placed a hand on Harry's knee. “There won’t be hard feelings. The order of Aneniel will accept you and you will be supported while you settle in.” Draco raised a hand, almost as if to touch Harry’s cheek, but he dropped it before he made contact and sighed. “I’m setting you free.”

……………………..

Harry watched as the last of his belongings left the harem via horse-drawn cart. “It’s going to be dreadfully boring here without you,” Cho said, trying to lighten their spirits.

“Once I figure out what the hell it is I’m doing, I’ll come and visit,” Harry said with a shrug.

Cho laughed harshly. “A high priest entering this den of debauchery?”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “I started out in this ‘den of debauchery’.”

“It will be a scandal,” Cho said seriously, then grinned. “I can’t wait.” She hugged him fiercely and he settled his head on her shoulder, not parting until the familiar sound of Severus clearing his throat broke them apart with amused smiles.

“Are you ready?” Severus asked.

Harry looked about him and then shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“You will manage, and I will see you again soon.” Harry, ignoring propriety, stepped forward and embraced the man. For once, Severus did not shy away but instead he placed a hand across Harry's back and whispered, “You are free.”

“I can’t even remember what that feels like,” Harry said. “Except right now it’s terrifying me.” Severus snorted in disbelief and Harry smiled. They broke apart as Blaise joined them.

“The rumours have started already, can you believe it?” Blaise asked by way of greeting. “My favourite so far is that you burst into flame when you were with the king, only the flame didn’t mark your skin and the king knew at once that you were the Divine Oracle and made arrangements to have you installed in your proper place.”

“I told you,” Cho said. “Wicked hot man-sex.”

“That’s the goddess Setset,” Harry corrected. “Lady of love and lust and dirty and debauched details.”

“To think that just a moment ago you were concerned you were not prepared for this,” Severus drawled.

“I don’t know how to worship Aneniel,” Harry countered.

Cho snorted. “Everyone knows how to worship Aneniel. He’s the High God!”

“I mean, on behalf of an entire empire. I’ll be leading ceremonies! I’ll be initiating people into an order I never belonged to!”

“Nothing to it,” Blaise teased. “In no time, you’ll be back at the palace as holy advisor, and I expect you to tell me all about what happens.” Blaise clapped Harry on the back and grinned.

“Try not to corrupt the initiates,” Cho said with a grin and a wink.

………………………

Harry had never really thought much about the Order and the gods they worshipped. He’d prayed just like anyone else, made offerings and celebrated in the festivals, but as far as he was concerned there were gods, and there were the people who prayed to them. As high priest he was more than just another person praying, he was Divine Oracle and the responsibility he had was extensive. It was like a small empire within an empire, managing the gods and the worship of them.

The first month he spent out of the harem Harry studied almost ceaselessly, after having been officially inducted into the Order. Naturally, his education was quite different from what he would have had if he had entered as a simple neophyte, he imagined that most of them at least had some time to themselves, and time to sleep.

At the end of a month of silence and near isolation with his company being restricted only to the wizened members of the Order who had accepted the task of training him, Harry was thankfully allowed to forgo the usual test of his favour with the high God since the Order as well as the general populous viewed his time in prison, starving and suffering and yet somehow not dying, given over five days without anything, as test enough.

The second month had been filled with the standard purification ceremonies, followed by a grand and also quite public rise to his new status. The old Divine Oracle, Timius Stabarus, had worked closely in educating Harry and had become a trusted friend, teaching him secrets and skills in handling the devout, the lost, the needful, as well as managing the temple and the other advisors of the king. Harry didn’t recall much of the grand ceremony except that it had been filled with sunlight, rightly so, as Aneniel was often represented as the sun. The entire procedure had been broken down into a series of movements, which Harry had only managed to remember by thinking of the choreography of the ritual as all part of an elaborate dance. Draco had been there, of course, but since he had little influence over Aneniel and the Order, the focus had been on Timius and Harry.

Three months out of the harem and Harry was Divine Oracle Emerald, he did not wish to relinquish the security of that name, and he was beginning to wonder just what he was going to do now.

………………………

“If you wish so devoutly for peace, it would be better to pick one and summon them,” Severus said with a sigh.

Draco sneered at the dark figure beside him. “You mean, give them something to gossip about? Give them a target?”

“They are restless because, for the first time in a long time, no one seems to hold your interests; which of course is not at all possible. That leaves one option, which is that someone has indeed caught your attention and is satisfying you most completely, and you are keeping him, or her, quite secret. Naturally, this means it must be quite serious.”

Draco scoffed and leaned over the rail, watching the misleading quiet of the harem. “Look at them,” he said, shaking his head. Severus glanced over the rail, but he had seen it all before: lavishly attired men and women whittling away the hours of a day with meaningless chatter and activity. Their boredom inducing them to plot and scheme, their restlessness turning them bitter. “My great grandfather called them my father’s hummingbirds. I was a child at the time and didn’t understand it. Now I think I know exactly what he meant.”

“Lord Marius Malfoy was quite an opinionated man,” Severus agreed. Marius had not been of royal blood himself, but he had been a lord in his own right, and had married a queen, and so royal consort is exactly what he had become.

“They’re beautiful to look at, and wonderful to watch,” Draco continued. “But they are thinking so very fast, plotting so very quickly that they almost seem to be completely still. It’s their very nature to mislead and connive and plot.”

“That is unfair, and even you know that,” Severus said.

“You mean because they have nothing else to do?” Draco inquired. “Emerald wasn’t like that.”

“Indeed, he was more tranquil than any soul I have ever before met; which to me, suggests his little wings were most certainly beating.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that tone,” Draco said with a smile. Severus raised an eyebrow in query. “Fond amusement. I’d hear it all the time when I was little and did something particularly devious. You would always intercede with my father, convince him that I was becoming a good little politician.”

“Indeed,” Severus said, his lips twitching upward.

“Summon someone tonight, then,” Draco said with a sigh. “Let them puzzle the meaning of that.”

……………………

“Harry?” Hermione gasped as Harry stepped into her cell. He was pleased to see that it was nothing like his own prison had been. It was more a chamber than a cell, with furnishings that included a thick, if slightly worn, rug. “Or should I say, Divine Oracle Emerald?” she teased.

It had been a year and a half since he had seen her and Ron. As a catamite in the harem it had been impossible for him to justify visiting the prison, and even sending off letters had been something of a production, though that had never stopped him. Seeing her again after so long, someone so utterly familiar, was like all the stress of his responsibilities simply drifted away. “Don’t get me started,” Harry said, managing an honest grin and exasperated eye-roll.

“Will you accept if I offer you a seat on my bed, or is that improper?” she continued. This was much easier than Ron’s reaction. The first ten minutes of Harry's visit with his red-headed best-friend had been spent with Ron gaping at him and fidgeting, obviously not knowing how he should conduct himself.

“So much has happened,” Harry said, plunking down on her bed, heedless of his fine robes.

“Apparently.” Hermione's smile was bright as she settled beside him. They sat a moment, then he flopped over sideways into her lap and, just like when they had been young and safe and naïve, she wove her fingers into his hair and petted it gently. “Begin at the beginning,” she said.

So he did. He paraphrased and cut out the difficult bits, but he knew that she could figure most of it out. In the end, her only comment was, “He really made you Divine Oracle?”

“Yes. Sent me away, locked in a different prison. You know, it’s quite possible that the Order is even more lavish than the harem?”

“I’d believe that,” she said. “Does he know you’ve come here?”

“I didn’t bother to keep it secret. I thought that would look more suspicious than if I just came. Anyway, I'm High Priest, no one can really stop me from visiting this place.”

“That’s a lot, Harry. The trust …”

“It’s not trust,” he denied immediately. “We barely know each other.”

“You’ve been intimate for almost a year and a half. If letting the leader of a rebellion not only take a position of considerable power, but visit his old friends, who are likewise rebels in prison, isn't a show of trust, then I don’t know the meaning of the word.” That shut Harry up, he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking. It had become such a habit to dismiss anything personal between himself and the king, anything that hinted at a kind of understanding or connection to Draco; but Hermione was right, perhaps he had brushed off the trust implicit in his new position, too caught-up in the negatives.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I wanted to be free and to set you and Ron free, but I think I’m out of the running. I’m in the damn Order, what good is that?”

She smiled at him fondly. “Remember that day in the village? We’d just returned after the raid and your farm was burned along with half the village, and Albus kept having to tell everyone that he’d been in communication with the king but there was still no word about anything, that it looked very likely that we would not get the support we needed?”

“Aunt Petunia died, and I was really alone. I went to live with Ron and the Weaselys,” Harry said.

“What do you think happened? I mean, before the rebellion actually became the rebellion? When it was just an idea.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I was furious, and it wasn’t right, and I talked to Ron about it, and I talked to you about it, and you both agreed.”

“And then, you were talking to the village, and an idea became a united action. Who were you then?”

“No one,” Harry answered with a shrug.

“A sixteen year old farm boy without a farm,” she said fondly.

“Nearly seventeen,” Harry corrected firmly.

“My apologies.” She rolled her eyes at him in that exaggerated way she had. “The point is, power is irrelevant. Or maybe not irrelevant, but it’s not something that gets given to you. Sometimes it’s something that you take, and sometimes it's something that you just have. I’d still follow you anywhere; that was before you even saw that palace, or put on any silly Order robes.”

“I should go,” Harry said after a moment. He leaned up and kissed her forehead, and she smiled at him as he walked away.

…………………..

The throne room was precisely as Harry remembered it to be, except that many of the faces that lined his walk up to the throne were new. He didn’t mind it, Harry was a new face to them as well, or perhaps not so much a new face as it was simply different to see him walking up the green carpet just as they had done, rather than slipping-in through the entrance behind the ornate thrones and accepting a seat as royal escort.

“Divine Oracle,” Draco greeted with a slight twist to his lips that mirrored the amused smile on Harry’s own.

“My king,” Harry said, and in a move that took him back quite a time, he nodded his head slightly in obeisance. He had thought it might feel awkward to stand before the king; had worried even, that knowing Draco as he did might work against him in some way. Instead, it felt as if they were playing a game, performing an elaborate show for the men and women who stood around them.

“Your presence here honours us,” Draco said formally. “In future, Divine Oracle, know that you are always welcome in the palace, and that, as king, I take Lord Aneniel and worship of gods most seriously.”

This was Draco's way, Harry knew, of saying that he would have preferred a more private audience. Harry had chosen a public meeting, however, precisely because he had not been sure of himself, had wondered if he could manage being alone with the king and still honor his new position. “It pleases me to hear this,” Harry said, in his peripheral vision he could see Blaise clearly biting back a smile.

“You have come here with specific intention?”

“The month of the sun is nearing,” Harry began. The idea had come to him as he rode back from the prison, and it had taken root in his mind. Accepting the role of High Priest had felt to Harry as if he were being pushed-out of both palace and public life. His associations with the various gods and those who worshipped them had been restricted to the quiet temples in Brucandis, where priests and priestesses were often cloistered. The more time he spent at the Great Temple of Agathe, however, the more Harry realized that perhaps he had been suffering under severe misconceptions. “In a dream, my king,” Harry continued, “I was instructed by Aneniel to ride out to where the sun rises and greet the dawn.”

“You do not require permission to do this,” Draco said, though his puzzled frown revealed how much he wished to know Harry's intentions.

Theoretically, Harry knew that his position granted him impossible liberties, of which traveling unchecked, as any free person was permitted, was most certainly one. In practice, however, he could not understand how Draco could permit it, Harry was, after all, the leader of a rebellion. Here he was, boldly telling the king that he intended to journey back to his home, a place where he had once aroused the citizens to openly challenge Agathe. Anything could happen. Just because he said he dreamed it, did that mean it was safe? The king could not be such a fool! Draco knew that he was guilty of treason! Yet, here he stood. Why? “I wondered simply if there was a message, or perhaps something you wished to be brought east. It would be divinely protected,” Harry answered, to mask his inner turmoil.

Draco’s expression softened, and Harry felt warmed by the look. A moment later, Draco waved his hand, “I do have something I would appreciate being brought to Wystenia. It is too large to travel by land, however. I will have it sent by water, and it will be there for your arrival.”

The next morning, as Harry exited the temple with those who would travel with him, the temple stable hand was gripping tightly to a bucking and fighting Demon, who had apparently been sent over to the temple's stables on order of the king, and Harry left Agathe with a grin.

………………….

Harry never thought about the temples in the empire. Having never left Brucandis as a boy, he never devoted much thought to the stories of elaborate temples in grand cities, or of small temples along the rode for travellers. As he rode east, however, it was all he could think about.

The passed two years had been filled with such confusing, twisting and complex events that it was difficult to fit together; it all seemed almost unbelievable. Now he was returning home after a year and a half away, after being taken into custody by the king following a rebellion he had masterminded, and yet when he returned, it would be as Divine Oracle.

He wondered what the people of the village, old friends and familiar faces, would think of him, wondered what this new position as a member of the Order meant. What was he supposed to do now? As challenging as life in the harem had been, everything had been very clear, with success being easily measured and the goal plain to see. Now, Harry might have had his freedom, but it was different from what he had enjoyed on his farm.

He thought a good deal on Hermione’s words in the prison, and Ron’s reaction to him. Harry hadn’t been any different, had he? He’d been clad in the Order colours of red and gold, the sun’s colours; his robes had been rich and beautiful. He’d still been Harry, and ‘Divine Oracle’ was just a title, it didn’t mean anything except that he could suddenly be believed if he claimed to have met or spoken with any one do the pantheon of gods and goddesses to whom the people of the empire gave worship. Such a tricky thing. Yet the people in every temple he stopped at welcomed him as they would their king, perhaps even more lavishly. He was welcomed with such authentic joy and awe by these people, because of a title?

“Master Emerald,” neophyte Creevey said, riding up to Harry’s side. “We are arriving in Wystenia.”

“I know,” Harry said, it was impossible for him not to recognize the countryside. His thoughts turned to the Weasleys, Molly in particular, and the Grangers. Would they be angry with him? Would the people blame him?

He didn’t expect to be welcomed warmly back to his hometown, but he knew that he needed to return there, whether to put to rest that time in his life, simply to prove to himself that he could return, something he had dreamed of doing in those early months in the harem, or whether it really was a pilgrimage inspired by Anenial, even Harry wasn’t certain. It was something he felt had to be done, so he had done it. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, but he was. It seemed every single occupant of the village lined the streets. There were flowers everywhere, and petals covering the rode. There was cheering and people were smiling and waving. People bowed.

On the steps to the temple, when the horses, including Demon, had been led to the stables, Harry was welcomed by the old priest he remembered from his childhood, and beside him stood Albus Dumbledore alongside Molly Weasley and the twins.

“Divine Oracle,” Fred greeted.

“Fancy that, mum,” George said with an equally silly grin.

“You were sent into slavery,” Harry said in surprise.

“We were granted freedom,” Fred said.

“By the king himself,” George added.

“We have the papers and everything,” Fred boasted.

“It’s so good to see you,” Molly said, though she did not move to hug him it was clear she wanted to. She wrung her hands together and bobbed a sort of curtsy, and he rolled his eyes and hugged her closely. “We’ve missed you,” Molly said.

Harry let his eyes fall closed as he breathed in the familiar smell of the woman he regarded as a mother, and finally admitted to himself something he had been trying to ignore for so long, “I’ve missed home.”

“My boy,” Albus Dumbledore greeted warmly.

Harry embraced him as well, smiling as he greeted, “Albus.”

“A rather large vessel deposited a mysterious mass in our city centre. I don’t imagine you’d know what it is?”

“No,” Harry said surprised. “Well, the king said he had a gift for the city,” he amended.

“Ah,” Albus said. “I imagine you would like to plan an unveiling?”

“Yes,” Harry said, realizing that now more than ever, the people he was close to were looking to him for plans. He was Divine Oracle; he had the power, even if he didn’t quite understand it.

………………

Harry spent three days in Wystenia. It was wonderful and warm and welcoming, but more than anything, it underlined his new apparent power. Many of the village’s occupants considered him a god in his own right, so devout were they in their faith in the temple and their gods.

There was a celebration on the first day of the sun’s month, July, the day before Harry and his entourage planned to leave, and it was just before dusk that Harry ordered the covering pulled away from the ‘mysterious mass’ that had been sent from Agathe and been sitting at the heart of Harry's hometown since the day before his arrival. Not surprisingly, it was a statue, a marble sculpture of a winged lion, the symbol of Brucandis, looking strong and majestic mid-roar. The lion was rearing up as if to strike an enemy, and on its back was the phoenix of the empire.

The message was clear, and the villagers were ecstatic, their place in the empire and the fruits of their toil having finally been acknowledged and appreciated. Harry didn’t see it as a debt they owed to him, but the villagers did, and they showed their appreciation with a festival, with laughter and dance and a feast worthy of the palace itself.

………………

Power existed in many forms. Harry's entire life had been a struggle for it, growing up in his aunt’s home where he had absolutely no power, which should have made him angry and bitter. Instead it made him fiercely protective of what he did have, Brucandis, who, like him, had no power, was mistreated, was overlooked and undervalued. Harry had begun a revolt, had wrested power forcefully out of the grasp of the men who had suppressed him and others. Any power Harry had ever tasted had been fought for, had been bled for and had been earned. Every stage of his life had tempered him, had given him new knowledge, new understanding of the facets of power. Every step had brought him forward until he was standing at the bow of a boat, shackled and likely on his way to a swift execution. He remembered how his mind had spun, how he had felt so very helpless, there had been nothing he could do but hope that Albus would insist he had led the revolt, and was able to convince the king, and even that hope had hurt him to cling to, had made him feel guilty for wishing that someone else would step forward for something he himself had done.

Even then, standing in chains on a swift boat to death, Harry had still had something, that very thing that had brought Draco back to him again and again and again. That was power too, though Harry wished he had never been forced to resort to it. To be a leader, you first needed someone to follow you. Harry had entered this new world with nothing but a tunic and sandals and a determination to somehow set the wrongs aright. He had thought that his opportunity had been lost. Over a year later and Hermione and Ron were still in prison, he was still a whore, though now he was a whore in love with a king, if anything, Harry thought he was further behind than when he stood as a prisoner on Draco's boat. He was wrong.

He was a leader, only he hadn’t noticed. Alone and with nothing, sentenced on the authority of the king to death, and there were those who had risked all to fight for him. He was nothing but a catamite, and there were those that bowed to him, even without the king standing by his side. So what was power? Was one form better than another? More thorough? More corruptible? More easily wielded? It was a strange realization, and stranger still that it brought him such absolute peace to realize.

“Colin,” Harry called before they returned to Agathe. “We must stop a moment.”

“Master Emerald?” Colin asked.

Harry glanced to the bustling heart of the empire, a city that no doubt expected the return of their Oracle. Harry had laid the groundwork on the return journey, but to really work, Agathe needed proof. “Bring my trunks and set up a tent. Summon Witchett here, I have something I want her to do.”

………………………….

Draco stood on the steps of the temple, ready along with members of the Order as well as members from his own court, including Severus and Blaise, to welcome the Divine Oracle back to Agathe. The streets were crowded, and soldiers stood at intervals to stop the masses from pressing inward and clogging the path of the returning Order members.

The first thing they heard was the music; it was an enticing drumbeat and energetic, pulsing rhythm. Draco wondered at this, but waited as he watched the beginning of the Order’s procession round the corner onto the main street.

The procession had taken a formation, moving in unison with movements that Draco’s own soldiers would envy. At the heart of the procession rode a figure on a fiery red horse that Draco almost recognized, but not quite, as they came even closer, Draco was able to better appreciate this new mask that Emerald wore.

So often the youth had come to him in one role or another, this one was more than Draco had ever imagined. His skin had been chalked with white powder so he was almost translucent, seemed to glow in the warm midday sun. His robes were dark red, his eyes were kohled, his lips painted gold, and there was a gold mark on the cheekbone beneath his left eye. He was ethereal.

Draco was silent, forgetting his plans, simply watching in awe that made him equal to everyone who lined the streets. Emerald dismounted and climbed the steps to the temple and Draco noticed a gold band on the high priest's left hand that made his throat constrict. He had burned the papers that had made Emerald his property, but that ring pained him. When they were finally standing face-to-face, Draco managed to find his voice only because the look in those green eyes was so familiar.

“I welcome your return,” he whispered. “Divine Oracle Emerald,” he added, trying to compose himself.

“I am no longer Divine Oracle,” Emerald said to him. “I am Consort,” Emerald declared. “I am chosen of the god himself.”

“Divine Consort Emerald!” one of the neophytes in Emerald’s entourage cried. The cry echoed in the streets and was picked-up by the other occupants of the city. Around them, the people fell to their knees and, after a moment, Draco himself bowed.


	9. So Let It Be Done

“My lord!” Chief advisor Augustus Rookwood cried, entering Draco’s office bent in a bow but still moving at a pace that made Draco fear the man might plow headfirst into his desk.

“What is it, Rookwood?” Draco asked, already fearing what his advisor would say. He had worries enough dealing with all the many problems confronting his new ascent to the throne to worry about what might be troubling the man.

“My lord,” Rookwood said again, this time righting himself and looking most agitated, though he was clearly trying to maintain proper decorum. “Something must be done about the High Priest.”

“What is it now?”

“He has closed Aneniel’s harem! Disbursed the very men and women pledged in body and soul in the service of the god!” Rookwood cried. “I have always said it was a mistake to elect a rebel peasant for such a position!”

“Are you questioning my decision?”

“I –“

“High Priest Emerald is within his right to close Aneniel’s harem. I was already aware he had done so, and in complete honesty, I saw little point in Aneniel having a harem to begin with. There is even less reason now that he is wed.” The practice of selecting some of the most intelligent and beautiful youths only to lock them away in temples where they supposedly pleasured the gods they served, but in fact remained bored and untouched until they died had seemed both ridiculous and archaic to Draco ever since he first learned of it.

“My Lord, he is setting himself up to be in direct opposition to you!” Rookwood cried in dismay. “Even now, he is in a position where, should he so choose, my lord, he could overthrow you completely!”

Draco leaned back in his chair and smiled a little. “I know,” he said. “You are dismissed, Rookwood.”

……………

Harry slept each night in a golden bed, with satin sheets and gossamer curtains. He felt every night when he lay down as if he were being offered-up in sacrifice, and so every time he woke the following day it was with a certain amount of surprise.

“High Priest Emerald,” Millicent Bullstrode said as she dropped to one knee in greeting. Colin was dressing him; his skin covered in the fine white powder and his eyes and lips accented with gold in what had become standard costume for him when appearing in front of the general populous of Agathe.

“What is it?” Harry asked, then flapped his arms when Colin continued to fuss and would not allow him the freedom to face Millicent.

“I wanted to inform you that I have been appointed as a scribe for Madame Bones. I know you have probably heard, but I thought I should tell you in person.”

“That is fine, thank-you Millicent,” Harry said. “Make sure you work closely with the others, and keep a close watch on Severus Snape and Blaise Zabini. If they know you are connected with me in any way … well, they’ll probably help you, but I don’t want to put them in that kind of position.”

“Of course,” Millicent agreed. “And I will keep my past private.”

“I don’t think hearing you are a recently freed servant of Anenial’s harem would win you many points of favor. That is probably wise.” Harry had a number of people positioned in the palace who kept him abreast of the gossip as well as the politics. There was such turmoil in the empire and Harry wanted to make certain that what was most important in the empire survived.

Millicent bowed as another priest entered the chambers. “High Priest Emerald,” a young neophyte said, bowing low before holding out a little golden dish on which sat a rolled parchment with a familiar seal.

“From the king?” Harry asked while gesturing that Colin should accept it.

“It’s a request for your company,” Colin said as he glanced over the message. “A private meeting.”

Harry paused, his expression still before he nodded and gestured to three scrolls resting on his desk. “If I’m going over to the palace anyway, I might as well drop these off for Blaise.”

……………

Harry took Demon, his preferred method of transportation, although many felt strongly that it would be more appropriate for him to take a litter, and rode with Colin and Cedric, both of whom were priests but also knew their way around weapons. Harry loathed the retinue of servants and priests and priestesses and neophytes that haunted his steps both at the temple and when he left it, and whenever it was possible he took as few of them as possibly. He regretted, as well, that his costume made it impossible to be inconspicuous, but the reaction of the palace guards was worth it. The guards, many of them three times the size of Harry himself, were in complete awe.

“High Priest Emerald,” one guard greeted with a deep bow as Harry handed Demon’s reigns over to a stable hand at the front steps. Harry nodded in answer but said nothing.

When they were inside the palace he turned to Colin and Cedric. “There, you’ve delivered me.”

“Not trying to get rid of us, are you?” Cedric teased.

“Only a little,” Harry admitted. “I can’t meet with the king with you two skulking about. I’m safe here.”

“With all due respect,” Colin said quietly. “This is where you are most vulnerable. There are many of the king’s advisors who know only the barest details, and that makes them dangerous.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” Harry said. “But to walk down the halls with you both clearly visible shows a weakness on my part.” Colin bowed and stepped back.

“We’ll be in the shadows then,” Cedric said. “Skulking, as per usual.” Harry smiled and shook his head as the two disappeared into the shadows.

……………

“There was an attempt on the king’s life last night,” Blaise announced as he opened the door.

“Hello to you as well, Blaise. I hope that is not the way you greet everyone who knocks on your office door.”

Blaise grinned and ushered Harry inside. “It’s not. I just knew you’d be coming, and you have a very distinctive knock.” Harry considered that as he dropped the scrolls onto Blaise’s desk and settled into the chair his friend gestured to. “You don’t seem surprised about the attack. Or concerned.”

“I’m not,” Harry said. “I assumed if the king had been hurt you would have greeted me with that news, as well. Besides, if he were dead I would have been called to utter prayers outside his room.”

Blaise observed him from across the desk for a moment. “You’re getting far too skilled with politics. I’m not even sure if that’s how you really feel.”

“I was always skilled at politics, Blaise. That was never my problem.”

“If you had one at all,” Blaise muttered. He sat back, poked at the scrolls and then steepled his fingers. “Millicent Bullstrode has been appointed as principle scribe to Madame Bones. I gave her my assurances that Miss Bullstrode could be trusted explicitly. Is there a reason why I have granted permission for another of your spies to work within the palace walls?”

“Spy?” Harry shifted in his seat then leaned back and met Blaise' eyes, as if coming to a decision. “May I speak honestly?”

“I wish you would, Harry.”

“Miss Bullstrode was recently employed in the harem for Aneniel. Since I disbanded that ridiculous practice she was free to do whatever she pleased; but in point of fact, she has no husband and no longer holds any particular standing at court; her options were undoubtedly limited.”

Blaise grinned. “If you don’t want to admit it, that’s fine, but I’m onto you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That assassination plot I told you about? It fell to pieces.” Blaise leaned forward across the desk, a slender eyebrow quirked, and good-humor in his eyes. “Somehow information on each of the participants of the plot, as well as information on the plan itself, found its way onto Kingsley’s desk; and you know how he is about protecting the empire. Draco is the embodiment of the empire, many believe he is the empire itself. So you can imagine, Kingsley took immediate action.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“You know, I can’t understand you,” Blaise admitted, sitting back in his chair. “I believe you might have loved him. I believe you might love him still. But after what he did to you? I’m trying to figure-out when this started, this game you have us all playing … do you know, Harry, I’m not even certain anymore if you really lost that rebellion? Because I don’t believe that a prisoner walked onto Draco’s ship.”

“Of course I lost the rebellion,” Harry said, his voice low and fierce. “I led my city, that the empire had beaten low and taken nearly everything from. I told them that if we stood-up then there was no way the empire could continue to ignore us, and I was right. Did you not see the chains, Blaise? We were all wrapped in them when you first stepped onto our soil. Did you see the blood and bruising? … those of us who lived.”

“More of the king’s soldiers died than citizens of your city.”

“Yes, and all of that could have been avoided if Lucius Malfoy did what he promised us at the beginning: kept us safe and let us profit from our own labor.” Harry sighed and rose from the table. “You don’t have to figure me out, Blaise. You don’t need to understand me. If you’re afraid, then don’t be. I’m not the enemy here, I’m not tearing anything down, I’m trying to build it up.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Harry,” Blaise said, his tone bringing to his simple statement many underlying meanings, and Harry nodded once and left the room.

……………

Draco stood hurriedly when the guard opened the door for Harry. There was no one in the smaller chambers except them but it still felt as if they had an audience. “I thought we could speak over lunch,” Draco said, as Harry stepped forward.

Harry glanced around the chambers where both table and chairs were noticeably absent. “Where is the food?”

Draco pulled a basket from where one of the servants had left it. “Picnic?”

“The High King and Priest picnicking together? Do you think your ministers would approve?”

“Forget the bloody ministers!” Draco said, and then sighed. “What about right here?” He didn’t wait for an answer but pulled a cloth from the basket and spread it out onto the floor, kneeling to set all of the contents from the basket out. “Well, come on!”

Harry tentatively stepped forward onto the blanket and settled himself opposite Draco. “Thank-you,” he said as Draco poured him a glass of wine and offered it to him.

“Do you know, most of my ministers think you are a danger to both me and the empire?”

Harry glanced at the young king over the rim of his glass. “I always thought you and the empire were one and the same,” he said, neutrally.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“If I have to tell you then perhaps you are not as well-informed as my ministers would have me believe.”

Harry sipped his wine and then calmly set it down on the blanket, meeting Draco’s eyes directly. “Has Blaise been whispering in your ear again?”

“You won’t accept my thanks?”

“Most graciously, if I were really due them.”

Draco huffed and flipped the lid of the basket closed with more force than perhaps required. “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

“My apologies, my Lord,” Harry said, lowering his eyes.

“Emerald…”

“I don’t know another way to be!” Harry said. “I was yours, once, and while I was yours I served you in every way I knew. But now I am not yours, and I serve the empire with the same fervor because that is who I belong to.”

“You belong to a god,” Draco scoffed. “You wed yourself to an idea!”

“Be careful how you speak of Aneniel, your Highness.”

“You are less yourself now than you were when you first came to me in my chambers!”

Harry rolled his eyes and huffed a breath. “Everyone is so determined to puzzle me out!”

“Because you are a riddle that makes no sense,” Draco said.

“I make no sense? Why? Because as a high priest I saw it was in the empire’s best interest to have a strong and united faith, and the best way for that to happen was greater authority in the High Priest?”

“And to get that authority you marry a god? Explain to me how that was a sensible course of action!”

“It makes about as much sense as devoting the brightest and most attractive members of your city in bodily service to the same god I am now wed to! Why is this empire so determined to keep people in gilded cages, serving no purpose at all?”

For a moment Draco observed the man who had once been his lover, his own anger draining as he watched the other man’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths beneath the elaborate robes. “You served a purpose, Emerald.”

“I’m happy you feel that way,” Harry said, more calmly. “But how many souls can you take to your bed at once? How many are in that harem? How many souls can, as you put it, an idea take to bed?”

“It’s a moot point now that you have done away with that harem.”

Harry dropped his gaze to the blanket on which he knelt, at the food and wine set-out before him. “Why am I really here, Draco? What are you really angry at? Because if you think that…” Harry was interrupted by the press of warm lips against his own and a familiar tongue flicking first against his bottom lip, then the top, before pressing into his mouth.

Harry had wondered what he might do if Draco ever kissed him again. At times, he imagined beginning their intimacies again, and other times he fantasized about turning the man away. Sometimes he would be angry as he pushed at Draco, or perhaps he would be politely condescending.

Instead, Harry found himself following Draco’s gentle push until he was sprawled on the blanket, Draco’s hands quickly finding ways beneath his robes as Harry ripped at fabric that blocked him from the king’s skin. “You brought me here to ravish me?”

Draco kissed his way up Harry’s neck, smudging at the white dusting of powder that obscured golden skin. “I brought you here to thank you.” He bit Harry’s ear, grinning at the ragged moan that it elicited, familiar. “The ravishing was a last minute idea.”

It was surprising to realize how much he had missed Draco’s touch, but when he ran his hands up Harry’s bared chest and dipped his tongue into Harry’s open mouth, it felt like returning home. Harry felt his body arching toward a long-missed touch, his skin pebbling with the sudden rush of sensation.

It was awkward in a way it hadn’t ever been between them; hands and legs tangling and their bodies bumping and tumbling, both of them frantic, Harry’s white paint transferring onto Draco’s skin. It was rushed and exquisite. There was butter to smooth the way, and more pain than previously because it had been a while, and as they rocked they clasped hands and stole each other’s breath and muffled each other’s moans.

Draco collapsed beside him on the blanket as they regained their breath, and Harry turned his head. His words stolen at the sight of white smudges all over the king’s body, and Harry laughed.

Draco pouted at him. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.”

“You’re a complete mess,” Harry said, leaning up on his elbow to rub at one of the smudges that ran across Draco’s nose where their noses had bumped.

“We should probably go wash this off.”

“You don’t think it would look odd that we have a private meeting that results in the both of us requiring a bath? Or that the high priest entered the palace in his usual costume but left looking quite altered?”

The smug, preening look was something no one in the court had ever witnessed, but Harry felt the aching shock of familiarity at the expression. “I tend to have that effect on people,” the king said.

“How modest. Luckily, I am better prepared.” Harry gathered his clothes and dressed, Draco reluctantly mirroring his actions. “You should probably go.”

“Your neophyte will know who you were with.”

“Of course he will, but there’s a difference between seeing it plain as day, and assuming it. It’s called tact, Draco.”

“Emerald –“

“It doesn’t change anything, Draco,” Harry said. “Please.”

For a moment, Draco wanted to argue, but instead he gathered-up the cloth covered in Harry’s release and exited the chambers while Harry summoned Colin to reapply the smudged paint.

……………

“Precious Emerald,” Pansy said, stopping Harry as he walked. He stood in his robes in the open hallway of the harem, Pansy blocking his path as she rested casually against a column, her pale orange and yellow dress rustling with the soft breeze.

“Parkinson,” Harry greeted. It was the first time he had seen her alone since she had visited him in prison and he supposed that was the reason why her presence was making him feel slightly skittish, although he knew that Colin and Cedric were only a shout away.

“The world is a changing place, it would seem,” she said, her eyes raking over the white and gold on his skin, and his robes.

“For the better.”

“If you call a shaky grasp on this empire an improvement.”

“No,” Harry said. “I call letting go of archaic practices and uniting an entire empire under one banner an improvement.”

“Of course you would credit your actions as improvements,” she sneered, her gaze returning to him, disdainful and agry.

“Was there something in particular you wanted to say to me, Parkinson?”

“The king entertains us,” she said. “Dinners and parties and dances. Each night, he summons one of us to his bed.”

Harry kept his expression neutral and tried to show no reaction to the news. “What the king does in his own palace, in his own bed, is of no concern of mine. What does concern me is the king’s relationship with the gods, as well as the relationship of the king’s subjects with the gods.” He paused a moment and then stepped around her and continued walking, experiencing a certain amount of satisfaction when she hastened aside to clear his way.

“I made you a promise, Emerald.”

Harry stopped but did not turn to her. “I remember it.” He turned his head to the side, glanced to her from the corner of his eyes. “I have made my peace with the heavens and am in good standing with them. How about you?”

A shadow fell across the marble tiles and Harry looked-up to see Severus standing just ahead, glancing suspiciously back at Pansy. Harry had just come from speaking with the man, and Cho as well, and it made him feel warm to realize that Severus was still looking-out for him. “Is everything alright here, High Priest?”

“It is fine, thank-you, Keeper.” Severus’ lips quirked slightly as they did when he felt a smile but did not wish to show it. ‘Keeper’ was a long-standing term of teasing and endearment that Harry had used for the man. Severus bowed and Harry continued on his way out of the harem and away from the palace.

……………

Meals at the temple were something that Harry had not quite adjusted to. He had done away with most of the strict formality that had existed, with the exception of special occasions, but there were still a large number of priests, priestesses and neophytes who dined in the halls at the large rectangular tables. After becoming High Priest, Harry had made the decision to dine separately along with a smaller number of his order. Decisions made for the good of the Order were still frequently difficult for Harry because most of them entailed a sacrifice on his part. In the end, the choice had been to surrender a piece of the mystique and thus authority of the persona of High Priest that he had crafted, or to remove himself slightly from the Order, if only at meals, in an effort to allow his followers time to relax. He imagined it was similar to what Albus had dealt with being the head of his small town. Albus had managed by adopting a certain enigmatic air; Harry coped by remaining somewhat elusive.

The large circular table was placed in one of the rooms that had originally been considered to be Aneniel’s chambers where catamites and concubines, whoever had been lucky enough to be selected, would go to spend a night entertaining their god which, in actuality, meant a night spent sleeping on a cold stone altar beneath an enormous figure of the God cast in glowing gold. Harry had the room redecorated and it had become a second dining hall, though much smaller. Around the table were some of Harry’s most trusted friends, each laughing and talking, distracting Harry from memories of his visit to the palace earlier in the week.

If there was one thing Harry did not understand, it was Draco. Their intimacy had felt like returning to a home that he had never actually had, but always wanted. Draco was angry, but at what and for what reason Harry could not be certain. At times he thought it was because of the changes that Harry had made as High Priest, at others he wondered if maybe it was that the pressure of the king’s advisors was making him leery of Harry’s growing power. Sometimes, he entertained thoughts that perhaps Draco was jealous that Harry was married to a god; but those were only idle thoughts that punished Harry more than anything else. He had promised himself to put aside his feelings because it was no longer proper for him to entertain them, if it ever had been.

“My lord?” Harry blinked out of his reverie, his focus returning to the hall and the people surrounding him to find a servant kneeling by his chair and offering-up a note card.

“Thank-you.” Harry took the card and read it hastily before excusing himself from the table.

In the main entrance of the temple Severus Snape was pacing restlessly, but stopped long enough to bow low to Harry and indicate that it was a private matter. Harry took no chances and brought Severus to his own chambers, offering wine and a soft chair before finally motioning for the other man to speak.

“I have no idea which news to deliver first.”

“Go by order of importance,” Harry suggested.

“Which would be useful advice under any other circumstances,” Severus said. He took a breath and then shook his head slowly. “The king intended it as a surprise to you, but I thought that you might not appreciate the shock if you are in your persona tomorrow.”

“What is it?”

“Firstly?” Severus set his wine glass down and leaned forward. “Your friends have been pardoned. In the morning they will be released and, I am assuming, their first order of business will be to come here.”

“Ron and Hermione?”

“Yes.” Harry was not sure how to react to that. He visited his friends as often as he could, not caring about how seemly it might be for the High Priest to frequent the prison, and he missed them constantly. He was relieved and overjoyed, and almost as equally baffled by the king’s intentions. “There is more,” Severus continued.

“What more could there possibly be?”

“An uprising has started in the north. Draco leaves in the morning to lead the troupes.”

“He’s leaving the city at a time like this?”

“There was little choice,” Severus said. “Morale among the military was more important than leaving the city when there are still attempts to overtake the throne.”

Harry rose from his seat and paced back-and-forth for a moment. “It’s a peace offering,” he thought aloud. “And support. He means for me to make certain that the throne remains for him when he returns.”

“He said nothing explicitly,” Severus said, though from his expression it was clear that this was what he had concluded as well.

“The timing as well, cannot be a coincidence. I’ll be distracted with the return of my friends and he’ll be out of the city before I have the chance to speak with him about this.”

“Draco might be many things, but no one has ever accused him of lacking in cunning,” Severus said, this time his smirk was apparent.

“How am I supposed to do all of this? I’m only a High Priest! And most of his advisors despise me!”

“If I may speak plainly?” Harry indicated that it was fine with an impatient wave. His friends never had to worry about offending him and Harry wished they would put aside the formalities. “A young boy once entered the harem of which I am Keeper, and worried that he would not be enough to satisfy a prince. Later, as he was ordained High Priest, he feared he would not be enough there, either. Somehow, Harry, I do not find I am inclined to agree with your worries.”

Harry found himself smiling in answer to that; the smile turned into a grin when he thought about his friends being released. It had been something he had been working for, but he had never believed it would happen quite so soon. “Did they feed you at the palace?” Harry wondered. “Or did you hear this and come directly here?” When Severus’ expression remained stoic, Harry shook his head fondly. “Join me for dinner, then.”

……………

Harry stood on the front steps of the temple and did not bother to mask his grin. It was returned whole-heartedly by the two figures making their way up the stairs. “Welcome to Aneniel’s Temple,” he said, a touch ironically as Ron and Hermione bowed. He gestured them inside and then gave them both a hard hug.

“It’s been such a long time!” Hermione said, and in the same breath, “This place is amazing!”

“It’s home,” Harry said flippantly, laughing when Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron bumped him. Along the halls the other priests and priestesses of the temple were giving slightly bewildered looks at them, but Harry didn’t care. He opened the door to his rooms and before he could even close it again, both his friends had collapsed onto the setee.

“What’s all this, then?” Ron asked, his feet creeping onto Hermione’s lap only to be batted away. For all their time in the prison Harry was pleased to see that his friends looked healthy, if a bit pale, and appeared to be in good spirits. “We’ve been hearing some pretty wild things lately.”

Harry had visited his friends as frequently as he could, but had been so busy with some of the strategizing and work with the temple that he had perhaps been a bit neglectful. He tried to think of a way to summarize what had happened since he had last seen them and was surprised to find that there was so much: the changes that had been occurring around the kingdom and in the capital, news about the king and his friends from the harem, news from family and friends back in Brucandis. He set to it and tried to avoid leaving anything out, until finally he had arrived at the news Severus had delivered the night before, and then topped it off with his own request.

“Stay here?” Hermione echoed. “You mean in the temple, as priests?”

“Only if you want to,” Harry assured. He’d missed the constant contact that they had shared when they had been home, but somewhere amidst all his strategizing to get home, Harry had realized that there was nothing tying him to Brucandis. He had friends there, and people he cared about, but nothing that made it home, nothing that made it his. He had made more of a mark on the capital, with people he was closer to. He had changed too much to be at peace in the quiet little town.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Ron said, sitting-up slowly and leaning forward. “I’ve been dreaming about going back to the farm, y’know.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, that’s fine. That’s great. We can make arrangements for you to …” but Ron was laughing and clapping and shaking his head.

“Too easy, Harry. Way too easy! I’ve been getting some letters from back home. They’re doing really well, but I reckon there’s more money to earn here in the city, and they could use the boost. Besides, I think you need some real advisors, don’t you?” Harry was across the room in a flash, hugging his friend.

“Hermione?” he asked when he had let Ron go.

“Of course I’ll stay, Harry. How could you even question it? I’ve heard such wonderful things about the library here.”

“Naturally she’d stay for the books,” Ron huffed.

“And you two, of course,” she said. “But this is big, Harry. Isn’t there a lot of protocol about joining the order?”

“I’ve already set everything in motion, just in case you said yes. If you’re both certain, I’ll call Colin in and you can get your robes and your rooms. As for training, I’ve got quite a number of people who’d be willing to teach you, quietly.”

“Quietly?” Ron asked.

“So that you can be part of the decisions right away; part of my entourage, I guess you’d call it.”

“Entourage?” Ron teased. “My, my.”

“Shut it.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, then? Call this Colin and lets get started.”

……………

News trickled back to the city of the progress Draco was making with the troupes. All the while, Harry was managing the empire, making sure that whenever he returned, Draco would still have the throne to return to. It was not as difficult as he had anticipated, with Ron and Hermione helping him, and Severus and Blaise lending their support, Harry wooed the other advisors. Some still remained sceptical as to his intentions but so long as they continued to agree to his suggestions, realizing they were in the best interest of the king, then Harry was happy.

There was a rhythm that slowly took hold of his days, and somehow Harry found himself forgetting about his worries for Draco and thought only of the decisions that were his to make, the things that were under his control. He lost himself in work, and when there was a moment of peace to be had he spent it with his friends. Sometimes, alone in the night, Harry would go into his private garden in the temple and dance.

“I’ve caught him out there, y’know,” Ron said, his expression one of mischief as they sat in Severus’ rooms, along with Hermione, Cho, Blaise and Gwynn.

“You have not,” Harry said.

“I really have. Honestly,” Ron said. “Dancing out there in the gardens. There are windows in my room. You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping at night sometimes.”

“It’s really beautiful,” Hermione said.

Harry turned quickly to look at his friend in shock. “You too?”

Hermione grinned, then looked somewhat wistful. “I would have loved to have been at the palace when you danced with the others. I bet it was incredible.”

“Is there anyone who hasn’t watched me dancing when I’m by myself,” Harry said, bewildered. He had always revelled in his nighttime dances because he believed he was alone. It was a time only for him. He supposed that it didn’t make much of a difference if he didn’t know at the time. When the entire room remained quiet he huffed. “Well, fine.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about if everyone has found it lovely,” Gwynn said.

“I could never dance like that,” Cho added. There was a racket out in the garden and Severus excused himself. “Everything has been so boring here, lately.”

“Boring? With all the scheming? That’s one word that I’ve never heard attached to the harem,” Hermione said. Gossip always filled the city about the harem, and apparently it reached the prison as well.

“Well, if you keep yourself apart from the general group things can be quite peaceful. I think most of the concubines have forgotten I exist, and as for the catamites…” she was cut-off by the door being flung open and Pansy Parkinson strutting in followed closely by Severus.

“If it isn’t our Precious Emerald, returning home,” Pansy cooed.

“Miss Parkinson,” Severus reprimanded, and she huffed, smoothing her dress and sitting dutifully in one of the wooden chairs by the small breakfast table. Harry noticed that there were three scratches cutting across the bridge of her nose and onto her right cheek. “A fight with one of the newer additions,” Severus explained as he went to his cupboards where he kept his ointments.

“I should really be getting this properly treated.” Pansy smoothed her skirts again and turned her nose up in general at the room.

“I will not be summoning a medic for a mere scratch,” Severus said as he shut the cupboard door and approached the table.

“It was that bitch’s fault, anyway. I hope you intend to see that she is properly punished.”

“Oh, be quiet, Parkinson,” Cho said, in such a bored drawl that Pansy actually fell silent for a moment.

“Have I interrupted your little tea party?” she said, recovering herself. “How rude of me, my apologies, Master Snape, and with such notable company, as well. The high priest, what an honour for me.” Severus ignored her and set about applying ointment on the marks. “I should really have something to offer you, but myself being only a humble concubine … but wait,” she pulled the flower that was pinned to her dress and twirled it in her fingers. “Surely this would be an adequate gift.”

“I require nothing from you,” Harry said.

“It was a gift form the king,” Pansy continued. “To me. A promise that he would return as quickly as he could.”

“That should heal within a few days, Miss Parkinson,” Severus said, gesturing to the door. She rose demurely but stopped by Harry, wrapping his fingers around the stem of the rose before she smiled and left.

“Bitch,” Cho muttered.

“Forget it,” Harry said, raising his hand to his mouth to suck at the scratch one of the thorns had left on his hand.

“She probably plucked it from the garden.” Cho leaned over so she could peer out the window where she could see Pansy’s retreating back.

“Some wine, I think, is in order, Severus,” Blaise said. Harry dropped the rose into the garbage where the thick blossoms made a satisfying ‘thunk’ as it landed.

……………

Harry was halfway up the steps to the temple when the light-headedness he had been experiencing since leaving Severus’ caught-up with him and he sank to the steps. “Are you okay, Mate?” Ron asked, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waste in an effort to help him stand.

“M’fine,” Harry said. “This looks really bad. The High Priest stumbling about, obviously drunk.”

“It’s too late for that many people to be out and anyway, you don’t have your costume on. I bet no one would believe you were the High Priest at this moment,” Hermione said. Harry staggered again and raised a hand to his head. “Are you sure you’re okay, though? I didn’t think you drank all that much.” Before Harry could answer her the world closed-in and became darker still, and sound vanished and all he wanted to do was sleep.

……………

Draco stood at the edge of the camp and looked down the hill at the land stretching beyond him. The city was on the outskirts of the empire and had attempted to shirk its responsibility to the kingdom that kept it safe, and now it was at peace and also, Draco had claimed a bit more land to boot. Around him the soldiers were celebrating and relaxing, and getting on with the tasks at hand of keeping the camp running. “My lord, there is a rider from the capital,” one of the men said, bowing low, his cloak blowing out around his legs as the breeze picked it up.

“Thank-you,” Draco said, taking one more look at the green hills and the town below before returning to his tent. The messenger was already making his way toward the tent and Draco thought the man must have been travelling very fast to arrive so quickly after the scout had passed-on word. He hoped it was not bad news about the city, he had trusted that his friends would be able to maintain peace even in his absence.

“My lord,” one of the guards at his tent said, but Draco waved the man on and he dutifully held aside the covering for the messenger to enter.

“Majesty,” the messenger said, making a full obeisance that Draco chose to interpret as a hopeful sign. If he had been dethroned he could hardly believe that someone would make such a show of loyalty.

“Speak,” Draco said. He motioned for a servant to pour wine and lay out some food.

“I bring news from the city. The High Priest Emerald is in poor health. Doctors think it might be poison.”

Draco was silent for a moment. “Where is he?”

“He is attended at the temple, my lord.”

“Please, eat.” Draco gestured to the food as he rose from his seat and motioned his servant over. “Have my horse saddled, and notify the guard. I intend to leave camp as soon as possible.” The servant bowed and left, and Draco spent the time pacing.

……………

Harry had moments when he thought he knew where he was. He had moments when he imagined he was in the palace, but dismissed that for wishful thinking. He had moments when he almost thought he was back in Brucandis, could even hear his aunt calling for him to do the dishes. Voices blurred into a dull throb that beat in support of his pounding head. He could not move his body, there was no will remaining in him except for that core part of him that urged constantly to go to sleep. Sometimes he thought he was cold, other times he was hot. Most times he was absolutely certain that he was back in his cell.

……………

“Stop pacing,” Blaise said. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“I began pacing because you were pacing,” Severus snarked.

Blaise stood-up from the chair he had collapsed into and joined Severus in his rhythmic footsteps. “The doctor is in there; it should be fine.”

“You are displaying a keen trust in doctors.”

“I am trying to be optimistic.” A snort issued from one of the guards on either side of the gilded doors and Blaise glared. He made a mental note to pass the error on to the man’s captain. A young servant girl, her hair held back off her face by a single clip securing what looked like a mass of unruly curls slipped between Blaise and Severus, careful not to spill the bowl she was carrying that looked to contain rose water and a fresh cloth. She shut the door quickly behind her, despite the fact that both men were on her heels. “Why won’t he let us in?” Blaise complained.

“I assume Draco wishes for some privacy.”

“For what, exactly?” The door opened again and the servant girl and the doctor both slipped from the room.

“How is he?” Severus asked.

“Better,” the doctor said, rather cryptically, before turning away. Severus knocked gently on the door but there was no answer, and he and Blaise fell back into pacing. An hour later, three more servants had slipped by them, entering and then exiting the room. Ron and Hermione joined Severus and Blaise in their vigil, and then the hall become flooded with what seemed to be the entire court, and more and more people continued to join them. Finally it had become necessary to encourage those who wished to maintain their vigil to relocate to the throne room so that the servants might move freely down the halls; three guards moved solemnly through the masses, encouraging them each to their new location, and then everything fell silent again. Severus and Blaise were once again alone, given express clearance from the king.

“I hate the hours,” Blaise said. “There isn’t anything to be done but wait. I’m no good with waiting.” The door opened and both men startled, rushing forward when the opened doorway revealed Draco, somewhat the worse for wear but looking stiff and foreboding.

“How is he?” Severus inquired.

Draco waved a guard to him. “Summon Pansy Parkinson at once to the throne room.” The guard rushed to the harem and Blaise and Severus fell into step beside Draco, en route to the throne room.

“My lord, I cannot help but wonder as to the state of the High Priest,” Blaise said, but Draco kept an angry pace as he walked and did not slow to the question. When they reached their destination Blaise and Severus were forced to leave Draco’s side to stand with the others. Draco flipped his heavy green cloak aside and sat on his throne, looking every bit the ruling emperor.

The room hushed to look at him, and then rose to whispers as Pansy swooped through the doors at the opposite end of the hall walking smoothly, her skirts swirling at her feet as she moved, gliding toward the throne with regal bearing, making a show of a low obeisance.

“Rise Pansy,” Draco said. She stood, her eyes glowing. Draco held her gaze. “Concubine Pansy Parkinson, I order your immediate arrest and imprisonment, pending a sentence of death for the attempted murder of the High Priest and Consort to the Crown, the Divine Oracle Emerald.”

The whispers rose to murmurs at the announcement, and then became louder still as Pansy let out a bewildered cry, “Consort to the crown?”

Draco's face was a dark sneer and satisfaction as he said, “My consort.”


	10. Gods Among Men

There was sunlight, bright and blinding, streaming in from the opening in the ceiling above and down into the temple, illuminating Harry’s world. There was the press of his knees against the velvet soft pillow as he knelt beside Draco, the lulling echo of Augustus Rookwood’s voice as he spoke Draco’s titles, blending in his mind with the shift and whispers of the people who filled the temple; people Harry could barely think of, confronted as he was with the knotted flutter of butterfly wings that filled him up.

Around him were columns, gold-gilt and stretching up to the azure sky, the lushness of the robes he wore, his sheer shimmering cloak stretching out behind him so far it draped the stairs he had climbed to reach this moment. He felt none of it and all of it, filled to brimming and alight with such a buoyant joy that only Draco’s hand that held his lightly, raised up and bridging the distance between them, kept him from drifting up through that space in the ceiling. A heartbeat later Rookwood turned to him, accepting a crown that Harry had never seen before from the cushion that Colin Creevey offered. It was not the consort’s crown that Rookwood reverently held above Harry’s head, but rather one nearly identical to the one that sat on Draco’s head. Bright gleaming emeralds embellished Harry’s crown, complimenting the dark rubies in Draco’s, but for the difference in jewels there was no telling the two crowns apart.

“High Priest of the Divinities,” Rookwood spoke, his voice pulling Harry’s attention back to the ceremony. “Beloved of Aneniel, Divine Consort, Blessed Child of the Gods, Lord of the Seven Waters and the Sacred Hall; Beautiful of Years, Making Hearts to Live. Son of the Sun, Divine Oracle Emerald, Living Forever. First Among Mighty and Honorable Nobles of the Kingdom.” The weight of the crown as Rookwood settled it on Harry’s head felt comforting and familiar, and at the same time, heavy with a sense of responsibility as exhilarating as it was overwhelming. “King,” Rookwood continued, “Of the Edorean Empire.” The rustling and whispers rose in pitch for a moment, but quelled as Rookwood raised his hands. “Rise, united in your bond of matrimony, co-regents of the land and of the people.”

As Draco and Harry rose and shared a chaste kiss the roar of elation from everyone who had filled the temple increased, and faintly, in the back of his head, Harry wondered if it was appropriate conduct for such a ceremony. Draco’s smile was so bright that Harry ceased to care about decorum or propriety, and he grinned back, incapable of holding in the exhilaration and joy he felt. He turned with Draco, their hands still clasped, to face the crowd and to Harry’s surprise the noise quickly silenced and almost as one the entire crowd dropped to their knees and bowed low.

………………..

When Harry blinked open his eyes he was not entirely certain he was not still dreaming. Draco was seated on the bed where he lay, soft grey eyes gazing back at him, and Harry was confident that he had died, or was in the grips of another fever-dream, because the king could not possibly be with him. “I don’t recall giving you permission to get poisoned and nearly die.”

Harry let his eyes fall closed again and he smacked his lips together, wondering if there was a glass of water close at hand before he said, “That’s good. I don’t recall asking for it.”

“Idiot,” Draco said, the insult sounding affectionate in that soft tone, almost fond. Harry scolded himself for imagining things, but was distracted as the king held out a small cup. “Drink some of this. The healer said it was important to have lots of water to clear out the toxins.”

Harry dutifully finished the contents of the small glass. “Are you really here?”

Draco huffed, the corner of his mouth twisting up. “It seems so.”

“Why?”

“Did you miss the part where you got poisoned and nearly died?”

“You’re supposed to be with the soldiers.”

“I have generals to do that,” Draco dismissed; the tone of his voice drifting to that lazy drawl he used when he was bored.

“You have healers too,” Harry pointed out. Silence stretched and Harry thought that it might have felt a bit awkward if he weren’t so preoccupied with the sensation of impossible exhaustion. He was still not entirely convinced he was not dreaming, but the notion of pursuing some kind of test to assess the state of reality seemed like too much effort. Besides, it was a pleasant imagining.

After a moment more he nudged Draco’s side with the cup and the king took it back, standing from the bed in order to fetch the pitcher of water and refill the cup before resettling at Harry’s side. Harry ignored Draco’s gaze as he again drank down the water. “Are you alright?”

Tipping his head to the side, Harry fiddled with the empty cup and assessed. “Just tired, really.” His eyes were drooping low. “Will you lie with me? Just for a little while.” There was the rustling sound of the blankets as Draco shifted, and warmth as the king fitted himself carefully around Harry’s lax body, one arm resting along the pillows and the other draping across Harry’s hip.

“Emerald,” Draco murmured, as if he just wanted to say the word aloud. His fingers tangled in Harry’s hair and Harry felt lighter than he had in months, since before prison, and Luna, and that fateful night of Tribute. “Emerald.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know,” Draco said. “I just …” but he let his words trail off. Harry blinked his eyes open again and looked at the sharp slope of the king’s nose, at the pale fan of lashes around smoke-grey eyes; Draco stared back at him.

“What are you thinking?” Harry said, when it was clear that Draco would not continue.

“Would you marry me?”

Harry smiled a little and let his eyes fall closed again. So it was a dream. “I’m already married.”

“Yes, I want you to marry me,” Draco insisted.

Harry sighed, meeting the king’s gaze. “I’m married, Draco. No matter how ridiculous you think it is, it was what I had to do, and it’s done. For all intents and purposes, Aneniel is my husband.”

“Well, if he’s fool enough to leave you alone in your chambers at night, he’s asking to be cuckolded.” Harry snorted a laugh, but Draco persisted. “Take a king for your husband as well, then. One love for heaven, one for earth.”

“Being king is not a license to do as you please. It is a trust.”

The statement hung for a while and Harry wondered if Draco had given up. Just as he began considering sleep the blond spoke again. “Blaise said that the marriage was important. That it was symbolic, because so much of the empire had fractured and my father hadn’t mended it. He said that you strengthened the power of the priests because the people needed stability and unity, and something powerful to believe in. Is that true?”

Harry sighed again. It didn’t quite capture the complexity of the reasons behind his action, but still, “That’s a part of it.”

“What if,” Draco continued, “What if there was an avatar on earth?”

The king had Harry’s full attention. “Aneniel in mortal form?”

“Church and state, in full harmony. Wouldn’t that be even better?”

The idea had solid merit, even if Harry had trouble reconciling himself to the political maneuverings associated with his religious post. Still, “You just want to claim to be a god.”

“Actually,” Draco said, “I’m just trying to find a way to marry you.”

“You’re not serious.” Harry leaned up on his arm so he could more easily meet the king’s eyes.

“I am.” Draco raised his hands, cupping Harry’s face gently as he repeated, “I am serious, Emerald. I can’t think of any other way I can show you how I feel.”

“Show me?” Harry echoed, numb.

“Tell me that you at least understand that I’m in love with you,” Draco said, his voice louder, his tone disbelieving. “I’ve done just about all I can think of to let you know.”

“You’re in love with me?”

Draco sat up abruptly and ruffled his hair in frustration. “Of _course!_” he said. “Hadn’t you _noticed_? Everyone else in the whole bloody empire certainly has!”

“…Really?”

“Do I need to post a great big sign for you, Emerald?” Draco scoffed. “Spell it out in nice big letters?”

“You could try _saying_ it.”

“I did!”

“When?” Harry said. “I think I would have remembered you mentioning something like that!”

“I said it just now!” Draco said. “I love you, you massive, idiotic git, and I want to marry you and I don’t care what anyone else has to say about that. I don’t care about any of the rest of it so long as you say yes and be mine. Even if I have to become a god to have you!”

Silence, and then Harry snorted, and then began to snicker, until finally he was collapsed back on the blankets laughing and Draco, red-faced, glared at him with disbelieving indignation in his eyes. “You’re laughing at me!” he said. “I’m the bloody king!” Which only made Harry laugh harder and the twist at the corner of Draco’s mouth hinted that it was likely the exact reaction he had been aiming for.

“Will you say yes?” Draco asked later, when the laughter had died down and Harry was once again drifting inexorably toward sleep.

“I think I’m going to wake up soon.”

Draco nuzzled the side of Harry’s cheek. “Emerald, you can’t wake up if you’re not asleep.” His teeth ghosted gently along Harry’s ear, just sharp enough for Harry to realize that he was lying in bed, wrapped up in Draco’s arms, with the king asking him, “Say yes, please? Say that you’ll be mine.”

And really, there was only one answer Harry could give.

……………………………………………

“We should have eloped,” Draco muttered from where he sat on the elaborate throne set on the dais. Harry tamped down the urge to smile and settled for stretching a hand across the small space between them to rest on the arm of his husband’s chair. “If I knew there was going to be this much fanfare between our marriage and the part where we can just go back to our rooms, then I seriously would have reconsidered this whole process.”

“Remind me,” Harry said, tipping his head a little and keeping his voice low. “Who was it who insisted that ours be the most elaborate and lavish wedding the kingdom had ever seen? That the gifts be the most exotic and expensive ever received, and the celebration bigger and better than anything held before?”

“That’s different,” Draco said, with a slight pout on his face. “It’s tradition, you know. Traditions are important. Who was it who told me that?” He looked like he was endeavoring to remember, and then suddenly turned his head and looked directly at Harry. “Oh yes, I remember now.” Harry could not hold back a slight snicker then, and was forced to offer an apologetic nod to the ambassador who was attempting to show-off his country’s gift, glittering boxes overflowing with jewels and gold. Draco nodded at the man, regal and aloof, gesturing for the offering to be accepted and carried to the back rooms for safekeeping by servants. “Besides, there’s those important changes you wanted to make and apparently the only way to do that is to wait through all this bloody ritual and then make the announcement.”

“For someone who rules an entire empire,” Harry said, his voice thoughtful. “You do permit your advisors to push you around quite a bit.”

“And by _advisors_, I should think you mean, _Blaise_, who made me promise not to forgo a single moment of traditional ceremonies because he thought it was about time that we had a good old-fashioned party. Look at him,” Draco jerked his eyes sharply to the column where Harry could see Blaise Zabini, formally and quite expensively attired, leaning or perhaps more accurately, propped. “He’s absolutely _slaughtered_. Of course, everyone but us gets to toast our good health with proper wine, but the two people who could really use a stiff drink have their goblets watered down. We might as well be drinking from the _fountain_. I specifically told the servants not to water our wine.”

“You did,” Harry said. “And I specifically told them they had better water it. Draco, it would hardly be appropriate for the two representatives of the empire to be incapable of standing without assistance, we couldn’t refuse a toast lest we accidentally start a war between nations, and I am quite certain you have no wish to make your very important announcement in a slur and punctuate it with a loud belch at the end.”

“Well,” Draco said, nodding to yet another ambassador, all traces of bluster gone from his tone. “It would have certainly been memorable.”

“I think we can stand to have at least _one_ thing about our rise to power be within the norm and entirely compliant with expectation. Let’s not disrupt our people too much, and all at once, yeah?”

Draco’s lips quirked upward and he cast an absurdly joyous and shy glance at his husband. “_Our_ people,” he echoed.

……………………………………………

The throne room was filled with people, their voices hushed as they traded their concerns for the High Priest and whispered their suspicions as to how he had fallen so ill, and why the king had rushed to return to the city and yet had not been seen once since disappearing through to his private chambers.

The hush fell to immediate silence as the double-doors to the room were pushed aside and the king, his heavy green cloak billowing around him as he walked briskly through the swiftly parting crowd and up to the dais. “The High Priest has had a vision!” Draco announced, his voice booming out into the hall. “In this vision, he foresaw a companion to the Divine Oracle. Bound in spirit, this companion was to the Oracle on earth what Valaynor is to Aneniel in the heavens.” Voices rose and fell like a wave, but the king kept his gaze steady. “An avatar of Aneniel, here in this city, in this very palace; before you now.”

Blaise turned with widened eyes to Severus, but the shadowed figure appeared just as bewildered as Blaise himself. When he looked back to Draco, the blond was stepping forward, spreading his arms to hush the people who had begun muttering prayers under their breath. “People of Edorea,” he said. “A grave injustice has been done here, a crime that strikes at the very foundations of this empire, _at the very soul of it_. Someone has poisoned the high priest, our Divine Oracle, my mate in all but body, and _we will root out this evil_.”

Into the hush swooped another figure, entering with little remark but, yet as she strode toward the dais, was greeted with dark looks and hisses and muttered curses. “Gods in the heavens, they believe him,” Blaise whispered.

Severus rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter, smirked a little as he said, “Harry laid the groundwork for it. The people love him and he has already made a similar claim, albeit in more ritual terms.”

“High Priests have always been closely affiliated with the deities, hence the title divine oracle. But a king?”

“Unity,” Severus said, but hushed as Pansy reached the dais and knelt at Draco’s feet, her face, when she raised it, hopeful and bright. “More fool she for striking out against what the people want.”

“Hail mighty king,” Pansy said.

“She thinks he’s proposing,” Blaise muttered, smirked as he heard Severus’ dark snort.

“Rise,” Draco said, softly. He waited until she stood before him to continue, with a strong voice that reached the back of the hall with ease, “Concubine Pansy Parkinson, I order your immediate arrest and imprisonment, pending a sentence of death for the attempted murder of the High Priest and Consort to the Crown, the Divine Oracle Emerald.”

Pansy gaped for a moment, stepped back unconsciously before she came forward again. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Consort to the _crown_?”

Draco's face was a dark sneer and satisfaction as he leaned toward her and said, “_My_ consort.”

Her eyes were wide and her expression dazed as she looked out to the people that surrounded her, who dropped as one to their knees and pressed their heads to the ground as they cried, “Hail Mighty Incarnation. Hail, emanation of the Holy One!”

……………………………………………

As a little boy, Severus could remember growing up close to the palace. His parents had been nobles, with titles and wealth, and yet he had never once been invited to accompany them to any of the dinners or parties at the court. On special occasions he would stand amidst the crowd and watch the women glittering with bright fabrics and sparkling jewels, and the men shining with gold, and would hate his father just a little bit for keeping him away from court life. Mostly he coped with his simmering jealousy by reading and studying a great deal.

Much to his father’s chagrin the king, Abraxus Malfoy, had issued an invitation for him to study with the prince, believing that Severus’ studious nature would be a good influence on the restless Lucius. Abraxus Malfoy had been a strict and ruthless king, sparing little time for his son and even less for his own wife. There had been only a handful of years during his reign in which the empire had been at peace and, as Severus learned much later, court life had been corrupt and debauched.

Lucius had been a close friend, and as a king, there was much about the empire that he had improved, and Severus never felt devotion to him the way he felt as he sat in the great hall, at the head table beside the newly ordained king.

Harry’s laugh rang out and Severus dropped his eyes to the table, concentrating on his wine for a moment as he sorted through the tangle of emotions he was experiencing. Not long ago he had stood before his kings and been set free and recognized in a way unlike anything ever before. Even when Lucius had made him Keeper of the Harem, a fairly prestigious post, it had seemed like more of a favor to a friend than a privilege. Though Severus was certain that there had been many who envied him greatly, it had not been the role Severus had been hoping for; for one thing, it barely involved him in regular court life.

“You seem lost in thought, would it be intruding to ask what could be more fascinating than the bawdy limericks that Blaise had been reciting since we sat down?”

“If it were indeed intrusive, Miss Granger, the damage would be done,” Severus said. Beside him, Hermione Granger smiled but looked altogether unfazed. Severus had found he quite enjoyed her, though Harry’s other friend, Ronald Weasley, was a more grating presence than he was used to. “I am ruminating on my new post.”

Hermione’s smile widened and she shifted in her chair to face him more fully. “Do you think Harry will still call you Keeper?”

“Indeed. I imagine he selected the position specifically so that the name might still be applicable.” Hermione laughed and shook her head. He could still close his eyes and see with perfect clarity the bright green eyes that smiled at him as Harry had said, _“For my favorite, I have titles”_. Severus hadn’t been the only one, Cho Chang and Weasley and Granger had been among a few others that stood with him, but there had been a sort of intimacy in Harry’s tone as he spoke Severus’ new titles for the first time. Maybe he had imagined it, wanting so much for there to be something more, but Harry was well beyond reach, and Severus was satisfied just the same with the touch of soft skin as Harry had touched his hands gently to Severus’ own as he said: _“Favorite of the King, Keeper of the Door. I make you overseer of all works of the House of Silver, Chief of the Prophets of Aneniel, Servant of the Temple and the Lord of the Seven Waters, and last of all, revered noble of Edorea.” _

He was an advisor, a more political post than he might have wished, but he could not fail to see the message in the titles Harry had selected. Placed in charge of the house of silver, it would be his responsibility to make certain that the wealth of the empire was distributed amongst the lands fairly; it was an extremely prestigious post, made all the more important coming from Harry, who apparently could not resist further tying Severus to him with titles linking him to the divine oracle and the temple. He was attached now, fully and completely, to the dark headed king.

“It might seem strange,” Hermione said. “But I wanted to thank you. For everything you did for him. He doesn’t talk about it, but it couldn’t be more clear that you’re important to him after today.”

“Hm.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said anything but still, thank-you.” She placed her hand gently on his arm, and let the silence breathe for a moment. Then a smile broke out on her face again and her hand fell away. “Everything is changing so quickly. It’s exciting.”

It was. Severus found himself exhilarated by the dawning possibilities. With an upward quirk to his mouth he raised his goblet to his companion and said, “To a new age.”

“Oh yes!” she said, and their glasses chimed brightly as they tapped together. She pursed her lips after she drank a sip and turned worried eyes on him. “Do you think they’ll ask me to give sentence for Pansy? I mean, now that my titles have attached me to the justice of the crown?”

“Favorite of the king though you may be, your newness at the post would, I believe, make it unlikely that you should be involved in any truly complicated matters at present. Besides, I am certain that Miss Parkinson’s fate will require little input from any representatives of the Hand of Justice. Her verdict will be determined by the crown.”

Hermione seemed to slump a little as she sighed. “Harry will probably forgive her. He’s fabulous with strategy but in the end, he has an impossibly soft heart.”

“It is not to Harry that I refer. Draco will, I believe, leave her locked away and fretting for just long enough to get comfortable, and then remove her to some swift and horrible fate. He gets his vindictive streak from his father’s line and it is, I assure you, an impressive inheritance.” He allowed himself to run through a few punishments of his own that he might have delivered, if given the chance, and then pushed the red thoughts away. “I find it difficult to imagine that her fate will even be made public. The people have fallen so quickly into support of their kings that a display hardly seems necessary. If I know Draco at all, it might even be detrimental to the moral of the people, to see what end awaits someone who threatens our king and Oracle.” He tried to pretend that the thought was not as satisfying as it was, but when he looked across at Harry’s friend, he caught a mirror of his dark smile echoes on her face before she hid it behind her goblet.

……………………………………………

Pansy Parkinson stood from the bed as the door to her cell opened. In the time that she had spent confined to her chamber in the prison she had envisioned many scenarios in which she might be set free. In moments of fancy she sometimes imagined that Draco would come to her and kneel at her feet, he would wrap his arms about her legs and plead for her forgiveness, insisting that he had been so very wrong not to see her for all that she was, and he would insist she return immediately to the palace and to his bed.

Smoothing her skirt, she rolled back her shoulders and fixed her gaze on her doorway where two armored guards stood behind a figure whose face and form was obscured by a dark cloak. There was a moment, as she waited, that she almost permitted herself to feel a moment’s hope, but then slender hands rose and pushed the hood back and it was not Draco at all but the Crown Consort and High Priest who stood in her cell.

Around her the world seemed to crumble and disappear and she felt unaccountably ashamed to be seen standing as she was, in a dusty room wearing such plain clothes; in a prison, unwashed and forgotten. Forgotten by all except the man who stood before her. She wanted nothing more than to lunge across the distance, to scream and rail and scratch at his face until she tore his skin from his bone. Yet in that same moment she felt as if there were no longer anything that she could do that would have any effect.

The guards stood, their gazes directed through her to the wall opposite as if she posed no threat at all; that they could allow their High Priest to stand in the gullet of a prison before a murderess and a traitor and not even give her the courtesy of searching her room for concealed weapons. Her hatred and impotent rage outweighed her despair and yet, defeated, she found herself dropping to her knees before the man she had so desperately tried to bring low. “Your Majesty,” she spoke, the traditional greeting of a new consort playing in the back of her mind, and weighing bitter on her tongue. She recalled sitting next to Draco in the Great Hall, helping him and his family greet foreign dignitaries during the festival of Tribute; never again. “Your beauty is more brilliant to behold than the beauty of the stars. My eyes fail, and I cannot look thereon.”

From her position prostrate on the ground she saw the dark robes sway closer. The silence passed and she drew-in a slow breath, her eyes watching as the hem of his robes swayed. “Now,” the Crown Consort commanded, “repeat it”. Her eyes closed as she complied, and then the silence stretched.

She knelt at the feet of one of the most powerful men in the entire empire, High Priest and Crown Consort and wedded to the divine incarnation of the chief god, Aneniel, and she wore no jewels or finery, her clothes were drab and of poor quality. “You may rise.” She rose slowly from her position, wondering at the way her body seemed to ache as it never had before, at the stiffness in her back and legs, at the twinge in her knees. She was barefoot on an uncovered floor, dust crusting on her skin and her hair in knots, and she could hardly bear to meet the other’s eyes, but that last twist of anger burned in her still and it was there that she found the strength to meet the green gaze; and yet as she did so, that anger guttered and then snuffed out. She gazed with all that she was and saw for the first time what she had somehow missed before, and it chilled and warmed her and left her empty and tired as she had never felt. Braced for words that she had longed to never hear but that echoed in her head just the same, she waited, but the Crown Consort merely held her gaze a moment and then turned away; left her standing in the grip of her loss. The door was drawn closed and the key turned in the lock.

……………………………………………

“Shouldn’t you be down there, attempting to enforce some order on that mess?” Harry asked as he crossed to stand beside Severus on the balcony overlooking what was once the Royal Harem.

“Shouldn’t you be in the throne room, attempting to rule the empire?”

“I suppose,” Harry said, with a rueful smile, “That we might both be forgiven this small respite from our responsibilities.”

“Indeed.” Below was a riot of color as men and women bustled about, stuffing trunks full with their belongings and, indeed, some of the fineries of the place in which they had stayed for so many years. Undoubtedly there were some among them who held no excitement at the prospect of beginning a new life, especially those who had never known life beyond the harem’s walls. Draco and Harry had endeavored to give as much support as possible each and every one of the catamites and concubines, from financial support to connections. The truth of it was, however, that it would be hard. Most of them had become accustomed to being kept in a lavish lifestyle, and having to do little to come by it.

“We haven’t done them any favors, have we?” Harry wondered.

“The palace harem is a different world from the temple harems,” Severus agreed. “You will find no one here who entertains even remotely humble thoughts. Most are spoiled, rotten children who gnash their teeth at the prospect of being sent from the palace, no matter how much support you might give to them.”

Harry knew it to be true, had wrestled with the idea of moving so quickly to close the royal harem, but Draco had been stubborn and determined. He had not met many inhabitants of the harem who had garnered his respect, but still, “Can you blame them?”

Severus sighed. “I cannot. As fanciful as the idea seems, the practice has always struck me as…overindulgent.”

Harry turned the thought over in his mind. “This is one of those times when you choose a word that greatly diminishes how you actually feel about something, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

Harry smiled. The idea of having a whole house of people devoted to satisfying his sexual desires was, to him at least, horrifying; but he supposed that was because he was sparing too much thought to pleasing each of those imagined individuals, which was apparently not the point of a harem. “Why did you become the keeper then?”

“It was a position of honor gifted me by the king, Lucius. It was not something I could turn down lightly. Nor was the post entirely a chore as it offered me status without the responsibilities of entertaining and consorting with the nobility, which quickly becomes tedious.”

“I’m glad you were,” Harry said. “Keeper, I mean.” Serverus met the comment with composed silence, and that made Harry’s smile broaden. “And now you’re my advisor. Instead of a whole harem of spoiled children you have now only one to mind.”

“And yet somehow I fear that one will bring me more difficulty than the harem-full.”

“I promise to do my best to cause you all sorts of trouble,” Harry teased, but quickly grew serious. “Does it bother you? The change in post? I wanted it to be something really good, to say ‘thank-you’. It was the highest position I could manage, Draco had to spend a lot of time lecturing me on how I couldn’t go about restructuring everything willy-nilly right from the off, and that some posts are considered for life and it wouldn’t be right to snatch it away prematurely to reward someone else. Even if it was you.” Harry huffed, the politics of the empire were considerably more complex than that of the temple, if only because the decisions were far more public and thus, had to bear close scrutiny. “If there is something else you’d prefer, though, I would be happy to grant it you.”

Severus’ dark eyes caught the sunlight as he looked at Harry, a crooked quirk to his mouth. “Harry,” but then he stopped himself, and looked away a moment. “I am pleased with the post.”

……………………………………………

Harry had been prepared for Ron to overreact at the news, and the perfectly good wine that the redhead spewed across the table shouldn’t have been as startling as it was given that, really, it wasn’t anything less that Harry had been anticipating. Still. “Ron!” Harry scolded, patting his face dry with a napkin as he motioned for the plates to be cleared off.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ron sputtered. “It’s just … _king_? Really? Not, like, consort or something?”

“King.”

“That’s pretty huge, Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes a little wide like she hadn’t quite finished processing the news.

“You’re telling me,” Harry said. “I thought it was terrifying enough when Draco made be the bloody high priest.”

“Who’s the high priest now?” Ron wondered.

“Still me,” Harry said. “But now I am also king.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility. Are you sure it’s what you want?” Trust Hermione to look at it as if it were a job application.

“We didn’t take this lightly, Hermione,” Harry said. “It’s a lot for the people to accept, but really, we talked it over and it wouldn’t make sense another way. Draco wanted to make it clear that we’re absolute equals in this. I tried to point out that if I’m still the Oracle, we’re not equals, but he figures that his ties with the army sort of balance him out.”

“I’d like to see who wins if you two ever to fight for the empire.”

“Ron!” Hermione said swatting the redhead’s arm and sounding truly shocked.

“I’m just saying…”

“Well, it’s not going to come to that,” Harry said, with confidence. “Mostly he just wanted to make sure I was comfortable, I guess because it took as so long to get to this point, and it was just a mess, that he wanted to make certain we were sort of, on the same page, I guess. That I didn’t think that coming back to the palace was returning to a submissive post or something.”

“I guess, after his mum…” Hermione trailed off.

“Anyway,” Harry said, cutting through the awkward silence that mention of Narcissa Malfoy inevitably led to. “I just … I wanted to tell you. I wondered … well, I wondered what you thought.”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione launched herself across the table and pulled him into a tight hug. “Of course I’m happy for you! It’s been obvious that you love him for so long, and it broke my heart that you weren’t together. It all sounds wonderful, like a fairytale.”

“I still think he’s a git,” Ron said. “For what he did to Brucandis”

“—That was his dad, technically,” Harry corrected.

“And for throwing me in prison.”

“—which was also his dad.”

“And for throwing you in prison and trying to kill you there.”

“—and that was Pansy with a little help from Draco’s parents, but we’ve talked about it.”

“Not to mention making you a catamite, I mean, really….”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, certain that he was blushing and hating it. “To be honest, I sort of encouraged that.”

Hermione’s eyes jerked upwards. “Really?”

“A little, yeah. I mean, we were on the boat, and I caught him looking, and at first it was just a tease. But then I thought, if I could talk to him, if maybe he could start to like me, I might be able to get you two set free. By the time we went before the king, I was pretty confident that Draco had asked for me.” Both his friends were looking more than a little shocked, and Harry shrugged helplessly. “I’m just saying, I don’t hold that against him.”

“I’m with you to the absolute end, Harry, you know that,” Ron said. “I’m just going to say though, mate, that sometimes, you’re scary. Brilliant, but scary.” He turned back to the table to refill his wine glass and then held it aloft, “Long live the bloody king!” and then, somewhat grudgingly added, “Both of them.”

……………………………………………

Their room. Their bed. The thought was pure elation and it didn’t stop circling Harry’s head as Draco kissed him, pulled his robes open and pushed them aside. Draco’s warm hands and soft lips and wet tongue traveling over his skin and it felt like returning to a place he loved but had never thought to see again; like returning home, and yet nothing like it. He’d been a farmer and then a rebel; he’d been made a catamite and then an oracle. He’d married a god and then a king. “When I first met you,” Harry whispered, his fingers ghosting up his husband’s naked back, “I didn’t think I’d ever love you.” Draco’s bright grey eyes met his for a moment and then dropped away, and Harry raised his hands to frame his lover’s face. “And then I thought, I couldn’t ever stop.” He kissed Draco’s lips, and then curve of his cheekbone. “I still think that. I don’t think I can ever stop loving you.”

“Then don’t,” Draco answered, dropping his mouth to Harry’s and kissing him deeply. “Don’t ever stop.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, arching into Draco’s touch and then flexing his muscles, rolling them over so he could press his husband down into the bed and lick a path up the pale neck Draco exposed for him. “Not ever,” Harry said. “My king.”

“My King,” Draco echoed. “My Harry.”

 

_____________________________  
**The End.**


End file.
